


The Derek Diaries

by Esyla, hboy2



Series: The Werewolf Diaries [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Girl!Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-11-11 21:38:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esyla/pseuds/Esyla, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hboy2/pseuds/hboy2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Stiles is a girl and Derek maybe kind of forgets to wear condom. And then you know....<br/>Werebabies people, werebabies.</p><p>Thank you to hboy2 for being an awesome beta/co-author and hearing the parts that i leave out and putting the pretty pretty words in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> So basically I am having a grand ole time writing The Stiles Diaries, which is a mostly cannon story with just way more sex. When I write once particularly great sex scene and forget to mention that Derek put's a glove on it. Several readers pointed out that I missed that and were worried or excited maybe that Stiles might get pregnant. So I had to write that too. Because of reasons.

 

 

It’s not until he is back in the warehouse that he thinks about the previous night in detail. And once his brain starts functioning again, is when he remembers that one, important, life changing thing. Derek calls Stiles with minimal fumbling with his phone.  
  
“Yes, Satan.” she answers - because, hello, ‘Ace Ventura, Pet Detective’ was the epitome of all things comedic.  
  
“I didn’t wear a condom,” he bursts out before he can stop himself.  
  
“Yeah, because the semen all over my vagina and thighs was totally not a tip off.” He can practically hear the eye roll. “Chill, Big Bad Wolf; Little Red is on the pill. Just don’t let it happen again.” She hangs up on him.  
  
Derek rationalizes that, yeah, the pill works, and one slip up isn’t the end of the world. Granted, Stiles and her special genetics are an unknown variable, but really, even his super werewolf sperm can’t possibly overpower the pill. Because that would mean the universe hates him.

* * *

  
  
“Did you eat sushi?” Lydia asks as she stood outside the stall.  
  
“No!” Stiles yells back. “I swear, all I had were hot wings and curly fries. There is no way I could get food poisoning from that!”  
  
“If they were made incorrectly, you could have e-coli.” Lydia taps her heeled boot against the tile floor.  
  
“We both know that I don’t have e-coli, otherwise stuff would be shooting out both ends. Come on Lydia, we’re both in AP Biology.” Stiles groans piteously and starts dry heaving again.  
  
“Well, I am stumped. Unless you are pregnant.” Lydia laughs. Because, Stiles and sex? Always hilarious.  
  
“One: don’t joke about that shit. Two: one of the furry idiots would have smelled it on me or something. Three: totally on the pill. Four: we use condoms.” Stiles lists as she sits back, wiping her mouth as her stomach finally settles. She flushes the toilet, exits the stall to brush her teeth and tries to deal with super-unhelpful, but Y U so beautiful, Lydia.  
  
“Always?” Lydia asks, getting a funny look on her face. No. Oh, no. Stiles does not like that look and will now ignore it and focus on dental care.    
  
“Yes, always. I bought the largest box at Costco. I make Isaac wear it as a hat when he annoys me,” Stiles explains between brushes.  
  
“And you haven’t missed any days on the pill or had sex where he didn’t wear the glove?” Lydia clarifies as she pulls out her cell phone, because Lydia isn’t a genius for nothing and she knows where this is going.  
  
“N....oh, wait.” Stiles hears it leaving her mouth before her brain catches up. She hates when that happens.  
  
“We’re going to the drug store aren’t we?” Lydia sounds bored now.  
  
“No. No, we are not, and even if we did and bought stuff, it won’t be positive because I am on the pill and I have read all the fine print.” Stiles is starting to panic.  
  
“Of course you have.”  
  
“It was the only thing to read in the bathroom. Don’t you judge me!”  
  
“Whatever. Just call your boyfriend-fuckbuddy-person and be done with it. We have Chemistry in five minutes.” Lydia leaves the bathroom with a sassy flip of her hair, because she is Lydia, and none of this is her problem. So Stiles dials Derek, because that is the only thing she can do right now other than hyperventilate and maybe throw up some more, and that’s not happening again because she just brushed her teeth.  
  
“Would you be able to tell if I was pregnant?” Stiles rushes out the moment he picks up.  
  
“What?” Derek sounds half asleep, which is a distinct possibility with the way he lives his life.  
  
“If I was pregnant with werebabies, would you be able to smell it or something or hear the difference?”  
  
“Your smell hasn’t changed,” Derek grumbles. “Werebabies, what the fuck, Stiles?”  
  
“Is there a chance that the pill could confuse your sense of smell the same way it confuses the pregnancy tests in the drug store?” Stiles is biting her nails now.  
  
There is a long pause. Stiles doesn’t like pauses; she has a compulsion to fill it with words. “Maybe,” Derek says. Stiles doesn’t like maybes either, fuck her life.  
  
“I have been throwing up all morning.” Stiles blurts out because her brain refuses to communicate with her mouth.  
  
“Do people get morning sickness a month in?” There is a strange edge to his voice.  
  
“I haven’t checked Google or WebMD or anything yet. You got the first call.” Stiles is definitely not panicking. She’s doing deep breathing exercises and she’s not panicking.  
  
“We have a meeting tonight. The pack - we can check your scent before you start looking up every reason that you might be throwing up. Don’t touch your phone until tonight except for calls, and don’t look shit up on the computer,” Derek orders, because the last time Stiles was sick, she was convinced it was flesh eating brain tumors and wanted to know if she should leave her mint-condition comic book collection to Scott in her will as she was going to die soon. Stiles has a tendency towards epic hypochondria.  
  
“I might have to drop the phone in the toilet for that to happen,” she says absently because, let’s be real, it’s against her nature to stop researching. It’s like asking her to stop talking.  
  
“Give it to Scott and say that Derek commands he keep it from you.”  
  
“That’s totally not going to work.” Stiles is pretty sure Scott purposefully ignores commands from Derek because Scott is her favorite kind of trolling troll.  
  
“It totally will,” he deadpans, which is Derek’s version of monotonal sarcasm. It’s kind of cute - except sometimes she confuses Derek’s jokey deadpan, with his more fatal “I’m going to rip your throat out with my teeth till you’re dead” kind of monotone.  What is her life, fuck.

* * *

  
  
“I want you to know that I am lodging a formal complaint with HR about this,” Stiles says after listening to Derek explain his plan to check for her possible alien-face hugger impregnation situation.  
  
“This isn’t a company, and even if it were, you’re fired,” Derek looks bored (his baseline expression), confused (he didn’t get the reference) and freaked out (so was she, so that’s fine). It’s different and kind of awful, and doesn’t help Stiles’ incipient nausea.  
  
“Why does she keep talking like that? Stiles, you need to shut up already,” Erica says, while lounging on the floor.  
  
“You are not my supervisor!” Stiles shouts at her, then looks around at the blank faces. Why does noone get her amazing television references?  
  
“We had Archer therapy.” Scott says absently; and she is totally laughing on the inside at how the dude is tripping at the possibility of Stiles having a baby. “Just be happy she is fixated on Cheryl and not Kreiger, like the last time.”  
  
“Last time she was pregnant?” Isaac has trouble following conversations sometimes. Ok, most of the time.  
  
“No, I meant the last time we watched Archer for nearly eight hours straight,” Scott looks even more horrified. Stiles idly plans on finding a way to have Scott walk in on her and Derek fucking like animals, just so she can get some snapshots of what her best friend’s face does.  
  
“I am still not cool with this. This is the worst plan ever,” Stiles pouts.  
  
“Jackson could be here,” Derek raises an evil eyebrow.  
  
“Ok, point for you. But, I will state for the record that I don’t enjoy that you have somehow gained a personality. I much prefered brooding and blank,” Stiles narrows her eyes, at him but relents. Fine, she’ll join in a group groping session on the floor, also known as a puppy pile. A puppy pile that’s supposed to last for a few hours until the pill wears off. Then, hopefully, one of them can smell if there is a scent change.  
  
“How much clothing will she be wearing?” Isaac asks, because his head is always in the game.  
  
“I worry about you,” Erica says to him.  
  
“We’ll all have our clothes on. Stiles - strip down to your undergarments,” Derek has his masterful, ‘I am the Alpha’ voice on. It would be hot, if she wasn’t still busy pouting.  
  
“I’m sorry. I have to object to the use of the word undergarments in this century and by the man who gives me my regular hot beef injection. Just for that, if I am actually sporting the kangaroo look, I am telling everyone Isaac is the father. Because, Derek, you are a weird, creepy old man who used the word undergarments.” This is the panic talking, clearly.  
  
“Am I allowed to object, too?” Isaac looks more worried, if that’s possible.  
  
“Shut up and strip,” Derek growls, patience at an end.  
  
“There should be laws against you saying that, and me not receiving an orgasm promptly after,” Stiles points angrily but takes off her shoes and pants anyway. Scott makes a disgusted groaning noise from his spot on the floor. “Oh shut up, I’ve seen you naked so many times.”  
  
“We were five!” Scott howls a protest.  
  
“Last time was six months ago,” Stiles enjoys the creepy eye contact that is involved in the conversation as she removes her shirt. Scott shudders, to her deeply spiteful satisfaction. A girl has to get her fun somehow, especially in this epically fucked up situation.

* * *

  
  
Boyd is the one to call it in the middle of the night. Which is strange, because he is the furthest from Stiles in the heap. She is securely sandwiched between Derek and Isaac, with Scott somewhere near her feet. Erica is spooned up behind Derek and Boyd cuddled up behind her.  
  
“It just changed.” That’s it; Stiles wants a recall vote.  
  
Everyone bolts upright like they’ve been tasered. Erica laughs, because she is a horrible bitch and enjoys the pain of others. Isaac just kind of vibrates in place. Scott runs; literally gets up and runs the fuck away. It would be funny if Derek also didn’t look like someone was currently cutting out his liver.  With a spork. A plastic one, from the school cafeteria because no one wants high school kids with REAL utensils. That way lies madness.  
  
Stiles, because she’s a fucking boss - don’t let anyone say differently -  breaks the supremely awkward silence. “Well...I guess we need to talk about Family Planning style options.”  
  
And this? This was so not the right thing to say.


	2. Options

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles tries to make the more logical choice.

“I was actually expecting the opposite reaction,” Stiles says truthfully. This talk is not going to so well; not that many of her discussions went well these days, but this one is a special kind of awful.    
  
She and Derek are sitting in her dining room because every difficult conversation Stiles has had in her life has taken place in the dining room. Stiles still has nightmares about the time her dad gave her the “Talk of Flowering Womanhood” in the dining room, complete with Powerpoints, photos of pustules and boils, and the most awkward question and answer hour in the history of always. It’s the room where all the bad things happen.    
  
“That I would be happy with your first option?” Derek sounds... she has no idea. This is whole other realm of emotions and facial expressions that has no business showing up on Derek’s face, and she has no idea how to read any of it.  She feels her stomach pitch and roil, and god, projectile vomitting is never a good answer to anything.     
  
“Not happy, exactly, but relieved. You’re the one that called me, all freaked out when we slipped up. Come on, Derek, neither of us are in any position to have a baby!  And it’s not like I can just give it up for adoption,” Stiles is trying to be rational about this, she really is, but that look on his face is making it so hard to breathe.   
  
“There would be no way you would give it away for adoption. It’s a werewolf,” Derek say werewolf the way some people say “beautiful”, or the way he growls “Mine” when they fuck, and ok, this emotional shit needs to stop right now.     
  
“What? Ok, you need to focus.” Stiles takes a deep breath. “Look, you’re older than me, so I get that maybe your perspective is a little different from mine, but this?” She waves her hand around wildly around her still-flat stomach.    
  
Firstly, my dad would shoot you, don’t think for a second that his lack of wolfsbane-laced bullets would stop him from taking you out in the most painful way possible. Secondly, college , Derek; my SAT scores are insane, and I’ve got universities already sending me stuff because I’m just that amazing. Thirdly, you have no job or income to speak of, and you basically squat in an abandoned building. All of this? Not really conducive to raising a well adjusted child,” she can see Derek literally droop, and no, that was doing nothing for her feelings - that was all pregnancy hormones.    
  
“You’re right,” he say, so reluctantly that she could practically see the words being dragged  out of his mouth and through his gritted teeth.    
  
“Scott’s going to go with me to get th... for my appointment at the clinic. We’ll be done by dinner,” Stiles wants this done quickly; like ripping off a bandaid. The faster she does this, the quicker the recovery. “We’ll come over after, ok?”    
  
Derek doesn’t respond, his shoulders hunched up against his ears, and his eyes trained on the table.    
  
“Hey,” Stiles reaches over and touches his hand. “We aren’t over, okay?” Stiles takes a breath and continues, “If you’re still keen on werebabies in a few years, I’m not against having a proper discussion and doing this right.”   
  
Derek looks up then. This time she can read his expression, and it reads like hope. “Okay,” he agrees and leans over to kiss her on the forehead, pressing his lips against her skin fiercely. Stiles watches him leave, then takes a breath, pulls out her phone, and dials Scott.    
  
“I’m ready. Come get me.”    


* * *

  
  
“Are you sure you want me to come with you? I mean, we can go get Lydia or Allision or your dad or my mom or Derek or...” Scott is fidgeting in his seat. They were parked in front of the clinic, engine idling.  Neither of them have made a move to enter the building.    
  
“No! I want you,” Stiles grabs his leg to make him stop jittering. He’s making her more nervous than she already is, and she feels her pulse jump in response. “You’re my best friend. I want - no, I need you there with me, Scott,” she swallows hard. “Please.”    
  
“Ok,” Scott takes a deep breath. “Ok. So, what happens now?” Scott looks out the window towards the unassuming office building.    
  
“I fill out a ton of forms. They ask me a bunch of question to make sure I’m sound of mind and all that kind of stuff. I pay a large sum of money. I take a pill,” Stiles repeats the dumbed-down steps she’s memorized from the website.   
  
“What does the pill do?” Scott worries at his bottom lip.   
  
“The chemical forces my body to shed the uterine lining,” Stiles gives him the short answer because the long answer wasn’t something she wanted to think too hard about, or worse, have Scott stress over. Stiles understands the details, and that’s what matters.   
  
“Is that why you made me buy enough tampons and pads  to keep a boat a float?” Scott asks with a strained grin. She appreciates the effort - this is why Scott is the bestest friend in the universe; he knew exactly when to step up and just be her Scott.   
  
“Yup.”    
  
“Alright then.” Scott cuts the engine, throws open his door, and waits for Stiles to get out.  Together, they walk towards the clinic entrance.   


* * *

  
  
“After you fill out these forms, one of the doctors will be with you shortly,” the woman at the reception smiles warmly. Stiles isn’t sure what she was expecting; maybe more judgemental side-eyes. Instead, everyone is perfectly professional, even solicitous, which makes that knot of stress buried deep in her chest nclench a little.    
  
Stiles takes the forms and sits down next to a nervous Scott, who is clutching his phone like winning a round of Angry Birds is the only thing that’s keeping him from completely losing his shit. Stiles starts reading over the forms; general biographical information, pre-existing conditions, family medical history, sexual history. The second page contains information about the clinic’s services, a lengthy explanation regarding the pill and its side-effects, and more fields to fill out. Nothing unexpected; she fills the pages out quickly before moving on.    
  
It’s the third page that trips her up, her hands shaking a little as her eyes fly over the words on the paper. It contains questions about the father, and if he has given consent, has he been informed of her choice, if not why, does the father’s family have any pre-existing conditions, if so name them, list family members of the father and their conditions.    
  
List family members.    
  
List family members.   
  
In that moment, Stiles’ brain finally makes sense of that face Derek was making when she was talking about “options.” It was all she could do not to smack herself so hard she’d give herself a concussion.   
  
“Oh, my god,” she mumbles, dropping the paperwork on the table in front of he r.   
  
“What?” Scott looks up, brow knitted in confusion, then growing worry as he sees the color leech out of her face.   
  
“He..Derek. He doesn’t have any family,” the words trip out of her mouth, her breathing choppy and harsh. “There’s no one left. He’s the last living Hale.”    
  
“Oh,” Scott breathes, again proving why he’s her Scott; just for these moments when his brain aligns perfectly with her mind, and her thoughts are his.    
  
“Scott, I can’t...I can’t do this to him. I can’t let him be the last.” Stiles says firmly even as her hands tremble while she puts the pen down. “Oh, crap, for a genius, I’m so fucking dumb,” she sighs and then goes up to the counter to return the forms. Scott follows quietly, a reassuring shadow behind her.   
  
“All done?” the woman asks gently.   
  
Stiles shakes her head and answers, “Change of plans.”   
  
“Alright then, sweetie. We’re here if you change your mind,” the woman gives her a pat on the hand and makes a move to throw the paperwork in the trash.   
  
“Actually,” Stiles says, reaching out for the forms. “Can I have those?”    
  
“Sure,” the woman hands them over, and Stiles turns to go, Scott following behind. She hands Scott the paperwork, then reaches for her phone. Scott gets into the car without comment, starts the engine, and turns on the radio to give her the illusion of privacy.  Stiles stands there indecisively for a second, then turns around to lean against the passenger door.   
  
Stiles dials Derek’s number, keeping her eyes trained on the clinic entrance.  She doesn’t give Derek a chance to start talking once he picks up.   
  
“If we do this, you have to get a job. Like, a real job with health care and benefits and a 401K because we are not paying for the hospital bills ourselves, and I want to have a retirement fund since Social Security is totally going to go bankrupt before we can start getting checks,” Stiles gasps out quickly, her tongue tripping over itself.    
  
I’ve checked and insurance prices are stupid high, and unless you’re keeping millions of dollars under your nasty old mattress, you’re going to need family insurance for all of us. And you have to live somewhere nice, I mean it. I will freaking break down the Argent’s front door and explain to them with my fists that they need to chill the fuck out and leave you alone if that’s the reason why you’re squatting like a hobo. But you’re going to live in a house with furniture, and a stocked fridge, and cable with HBO because I really like True Blood, and high speed internet,” she doesn’t pause to breathe. “Also, I demand a copy of your credit score. I refuse to have a bad credit rating.”   
  
The stunned silence on the other line is broken by a sharp intake of breath.   
  
“Stop sounding happy!” Stiles shouts, rattled by all the conflicting emotions in her chest that is making her want to laugh and cry and scream and kick something, all at the same time.   
  
“I don’t sound like anything,” Derek retorts hoarsely, but oh, she can hear the smile in his voice. And god, fucking pregnancy hormones, because her eyes are tearing up.   
  
“Don’t argue with me! I can hear your face, and yes, I know that sounds crazy but I get to say stuff like that now because I am going to be a teen mom and I hate you so much for this,” Stiles is half laughing, half yelling into the phone.    
  
Also you’d better be really good stay at home dad while on paternity leave, because I am not quitting school or postponing college, do you hear me? I am going to the best university that accepts me, and if that means going halfway across the country, then you’re just going to have to move with me, and I am not taking no for an answer.”   
  
“Yes,” Derek says solemnly, but he isn’t fooling her a bit.    
  
“And I promise to be careful at the rave tonight. But if you do something stupid and get killed by a hunter, I am telling everyone the baby is Isaac’s and don’t think I won’t, because he is way easier to push around and my dad might not try to murder him on sight. Probably. I’m 65% certain.”    
  
“You’re not going inside,” Derek might have his best Alpha voice on, but she knows that he knows it’s a losing proposition to order her to stay at home and not go at all, and that this was Derek trying to compromise.  And just like that, Stiles feels the world settle back down under her feet. They can do this: they can still be Stiles and Derek with Werebaby, and their relationship won’t be a complete clusterfuck of a soap-opera.   
  
“I have the magic fairy dust to spread, ok? So, no, I will not be going into the creepy rave,” Stiles sighs as though completely put upon.    
  
“No going inside,” Derek presses, an edge to his voice that means command and worry.    
  
“I will not go into the rave, pinky swear. And after we deal with the Kanima, we are telling my dad  everything. And I do mean  everything that’s happening in town. The fire, Kate, Peter, the Argents, your furry problem, and the island of misfit toys, all of it. No more lying to him,” Stiles runs on wildly.    
  
“That’s probably for the best,” Derek sounds both strained and pleased.   
  
“I expect to see your banking information and job applications in my room this time, Tuesday,” and Stiles hangs up before climbing into the car.  She’s not hyperventilating, she’s just out of breath from all the yelling and demanding.   
  
“What are we going to do with all the lady products?” Scott asks because he is Scott, and he is always useful at changing topics.   
  
“I have an art project coming up. I think I know what my unconventional materials are going to be,” she answers as nonchalantly as possible, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning. She couldn’t resist glancing at the horrified/agonized expression on Scott’s face, and Stiles completely loses it.  So what if her laughter is more than a little hysterical?  It explains the tears in her eyes, that’s for sure.  Thank the universe for Scott.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I scare you there for a second? It's cool though.   
> Thank H everyone for editing this late at night as I demanded she do it despite needing to go to bed and having a really busy day at work.


	3. Worry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOW WITH SHINY NEW EDITS!

Sometimes, Derek is surprised he doesn’t topple over from the weight of his emotions; and that squeezing pressure has been made even worse after Stiles called. But to be perfectly honest, that tension has been a part of him for so long, sometimes he wonders how he can even breathe.   
  
The weight would press down on him whenever he thinks about his family. It took the air out of his lungs after Laura was gone, leaving him gasping and choking. Somedays, it was a hollow ache that he could almost breathe around, and other times, it felt like gravity itself was pulling him down, crushing him, pressing around him as though he was a piece of coal that the earth was trying to mold into a very flawed diamond. It was during those terrible, terrible breathless times that he’d made the conscious decision to do everything he could to make the pain stop.    
  
So he stops listening to music or watching movies. He stops doing just about anything that might remind him of Laura or his parents, or any of his lost, burned, buried family.  And for a while, that worked. He could live on the shallow breaths that helped him get through, day by infinite day.   
  
Then comes Stiles. Stupid, annoying, badgering Stiles with her incandescent, voracious, joyful sexuality and her smell that meant ‘home’. She smells exactly the way his house used to; like a gaggle of werewolves have been rubbing on her skin all day every day.    
  
He should have figured things out sooner, that Stiles was one of those special Breeders, but there was no one, simply no one to help him. It’s not until later that he realises he’s been protecting her the whole time. That he has been circling around her since that moment in the woods, marking her as his, taking deep, scenting breaths to fill his lungs.   
  
After that first time he tastes her, he realizes just how dangerous this could be for both of them. He carries condoms at all times because even though  it was hard to fight the instinct to mate, at least they can be safe from repercussions. Derek doesn’t remember much about what being a Breeder entails,  but he does remember that Breeder instinct is triggered by werewolf pheromones. And since Stiles is surrounded by werewolves at all hours of the day...well, he’s not complaining too much about how many boxes of condoms he’s bought.    
  
But Derek slips up. At least, that’s what he tells himself when he thinks about that night after Stiles is half attacked.  He spanks her silly and then fucks her bare, all in the heat of the moment; because he’s furious at her for putting herself in danger, for acting like herself, for scaring him, for making him feel so deeply.   
  
They aren’t a mated pair or anything like that. He’s pretty certain she doesn’t want a relationship with him. But, he knows,  he knows , he was tricking her into never leaving him. It’s the ugly, ragged truth. He might not have consciously thought that he was breeding her, but that’s what he did - he was tying Stiles to him without consent.    
  
He tells himself he was relieved she hadn’t bred; that it hadn’t worked.   
  
And then it did.   
  
Stiles is pregnant. And the shock was enough to freeze him in his tracks, completely unable to respond or react to anything other than the sudden, oppressive weight around his chest, the loud thudding heartbeat echoing in his ears.  He was so busy trying to get air back in his lungs that he missed out on most of the conversation...until Stiles talks about options.  And he realizes in that instant that he hadn’t been as successful in mastering his emotions as he’d previously thought.   
  
So, he nods woodenly when she lays down her choice, even though his wolf was tearing at him, ripping up what was left of his heart. That part of him wants to protect her and the cub nestled in her body more than it wants air. But Derek forces it silent, locking his wolf away deep down, like he always does when the wolf scents Stiles. He lets her leave with Scott. Only after they are beyond his hearing does he rip his clothes off and run in full form into the woods.    
  
As he runs, he thinks about how stupid he was to assume that this would turn out differently. Of course she would make the logical and practical choice for all of them. How could they bring a child into their lives, when everyday was a battle to figure out if today was the day that the pack would be hunted and killed; if today was the day that Stiles throws up her hands and gives up to live a normal life.  Besides, what do either of them know about being parents? Absolutely nothing. Derek tries to soothe the wolf with thoughts that he has plenty of time to try again; that Stiles said they could talk about trying again.    
  
Derek has nearly calmed his wolf when he hears the phone ring. He angles back to the house, running furiously, and was able to pick up after the third ring.    
  
“ If we do this, you have to get a job. Like, a real job with health care and benefits and a 401K because we are not paying for the hospital bills ourselves, and I want to have a retirement fund since Social Security is totally going to go bankrupt before we can start getting checks,” Stiles is half shouting at him. He can hear her heart beating as furiously as his even through the phone. Derek turns instinctively, facing the direction from which she is calling, and breathes hard, trying to understand what she was trying to say. Stiles always starts a conversation about half way through.    
  
“I’ve checked and insurance prices are stupid high, and unless you’re keeping millions of dollars under your nasty old mattress, you’re going to need family insurance for all of us. And you have to live somewhere nice, I mean it. I will freaking break down the Argent’s front door and explain to them with my fists that they need to chill the fuck out and leave you alone if that’s the reason why you’re squatting like a hobo. But you’re going to live in a house with furniture, and a stocked fridge, and cable with HBO because I really like True Blood, and high speed internet,” she doesn’t pause to breathe. “Also, I demand a copy of your credit score. I refuse to have a bad credit rating.”    
  
Derek wonders for a second if his legs were going to give out from under him; he felt like he had separated from his body, his head floating up in the air like an unmoored balloon. He can feel emotions wrapping tight bands around his chest; like a belt yanked tight, making his voice stick to his throat for lack of air. He can feel his mouth stretching into an unaccustomed shape, wide and wondering and using muscles he hasn’t used in years.  He feels a burning at the back of his throat and in his eyes, and he can’t decide if he is going to be sick all over his feet, or if he was going to float away.   
  
“Stop sounding happy!” she screams at him.    
  
“I don’t sound like anything,” he croaks, because where did those tears come from? He didn’t realize he was still capable; he thought he’d cried out all the tears from his body all those years ago when he and Laura buried their family, and not so long ago when he buried Laura.    
  
He barely remembers the rest of her demands. They are the kinds of things Stiles worries about;  anyone else would worry about whether or not he loved them.. But not Stiles - she’s worried about his credit score. And wants to make it clear that she is not skipping college so he is going to be changing a lot of diapers in the future.    
  
For the first time in a long time,  Derek has a future.  For the first time in a long time, Derek can breathe air that is free of betrayal and death and failure and fear.    
  
But reality intrudes; they have the Kanima to deal with. Derek manages to get her to promise not to go into the rave, which is about as good as he is going to get out of Stiles.    
  
The weight settles back the moment he hangs up the phone. They’re all still in danger; not just from the Argents, but the Kanima as well. And because Stiles (and their child,  **their child** ) is his, she’s also a target. So he does what he does best; he compartmentalizes, he pushes the slow, bubbling joy deep inside, because he has a family to protect.   
  


* * *

  
“You clearly have a death wish,” Erica says when Derek attempts to explain the situation and the decision to tell the Sheriff about everything. “I am going to quit this pack if you try that.”    
  
“He should know, and soon. Stiles agrees that telling him is best for all of us,” Derek growls. He is the Alpha, goddamnit, they do not get to vote on this.    
  
“The sheriff is cool and all, but I remember that one time that Jackson got rough with her during practice...” Isaac stares off to the side like he is remembering something terrifying.  “He owns a lot of guns. Like, so many guns. That he will use on you, because you knocked up his daughter. Then he’s going to shoot the rest of us, because he’s a badass sheriff,” Isaac continues, his tone wavering between nervous and impressed.   
  
“If he shoots you dead, do I get to be alpha?” Boyd asks, because he is ever practical.    
  
Derek snarls a warning, but Boyd just shrugs because it was a logical question. Derek shakes his head clear; they have other things to focus on. The full moon is tomorrow and he has to make sure these three don’t go on a killing rampage. Stiles, the baby and the sheriff will have to wait.   
  
“Yeah, let her take that bullet,” Isaac nods. The others turn to look at him like he is insane. “Figuratively, I mean. It’s not like he’ll shoot his own daughter...will he?” There is a long, creepy pause. “Will he?” Now Isaac looks outright freaked out.   
  
“No...” Erica says firmly, but her tone is unconvincing.   
  
“Because that would be crazy right?” Isaac keeps going.   
  
“Everyone, kindly shut the fuck up,” Derek groans into his hands.    
  


* * *

  
  
“No,” Derek growls when Stiles tells him where she is going on the night of the full moon.   
  
“Yes,” She raises her eyebrows at him in an exaggerated manner. Stiles crosses her arms and refuses to look like she gives a fuck.    
  
“It’s a party,” Derek is trying to sound rational here. He really, really is; it’s just that the perpetual weight on his chest seems to have moved to his brain and is short circuiting his higher thought functions.    
  
“A birthday party for Lydia, who is one of the few people around that still likes me. And maybe one who will still talk to me due to-” and she motions violently to her stomach. Derek understands her frustration and is sympathetic, but his wolf is not so reasonable.   
  
“A high school party with drinking, Stiles,” Derek grits out.   
  
“I’m pregnant, not mentally deficient. I am fully aware of my new food restrictions. I won’t be drinking,” Stiles throws her hands in the air in frustration.   
  
“That will make you stand out,” Derek is grasping at straws at this point.    
  
“Everyone knows I never drink at these things because I am the designated driver who is underage and whose dad is the sheriff,” she doesn’t add ‘moron’ but it is obvious she’s thinking it.  She stares him down and continues, “Besides, Lydia’s the one who noticed that I was pregnant.”   
  
“What?” This is news to Derek.   
  
“She was with me in the bathroom before I called you. She laughed at me while I was vomitting out my pancreas. That’s pretty much convinced me that she has no soul,” Stiles grimaces in remembrance and feels her stomach roil and sweat break out on her forehead.   
  
“Stiles, you smell like you’re going to be sick, are you alright?” Derek asks worriedly. And it’s like magic how Erica comes out of freaking nowhere with a trash can and shoves it in Stiles’ hands.    
  
“I swear to god, if we end up with vomit everywhere, I will be the aunt who gives it candy before bedtime,” the girl snarls before dashing off into the next room.   
  
“Stop referring to my baby as ‘It!’” Stiles yells, then stops, looks at Derek accusingly, and gets messily sick. Derek stays close and tries to be supportive without breathing too deeply; he’s pretty sure that sympathy nausea would not be appreciated.   
  
“Says the person who refers to the baby as ‘the face hugger situation,’” Erica quips over the heaving.   
  
“Question?” Isaac raises his hand. Derek nods at him before taking the trash can from Stiles and putting it aside for cleanup. “If it’s a werewolf, is it going to be born claws first?”   
  
There is utter silence for a second.    
  
“I’m instituting a ban on all horror films with babies and children,” Stiles states icily. “That includes Twilight and Rosemary’s Baby. We clear?” Isaac nods frantically. “Now that we’re done with this meeting of the Planeteers, I have to go get ready for the party, and you,” she points at Derek, “Have to torture some teens with some really intense S&M gear.”    
  
“No drinking,” Derek growls again.    
  
“Do I need to swear a blood oath or something? I promise I will be a good little girl and will not do anything dangerous,” she kisses him before leaving and Derek feels a twinge of happiness; she’d kissed him goodbye as though it was completely natural. As though he was family.  The tightness around his chest loosens and he breathes out with a smile.   
  


* * *

  
  
“How do you control the shift?” Isaac asks as Derek straps him down to the car.    
  
“You have to find an anchor, something that keeps you human,” Derek explains as he snaps the buckles closed.   
  
“What’s your anchor?” Isaac wants to know, and Derek’s breath stops for a second before he forces it out. Maybe a few days ago, he would have just said ‘anger’ and been done with it. But that is no longer true; now, it’s the constant worry because there are other lives depending on him and his leadership, and he doesn’t have a clue what the fuck he’s doing.  Not for the first time, he admits to himself that he is woefully unprepared; he had never been trained to be an Alpha, and he’s afraid that his pack will pay the price for his inadequacy.    
  
“My anchor is shifting,” Derek tells the boy, and it’s even the truth, because just saying ‘Stiles’ makes it too simple to encompass everything that he feels, and fears.    
  
That is the last calm moment they have all night.    
  
Scott is supposed to come help with the other betas but he never shows. Derek is trying to fight off Erica and Boyd without injuring either of them. Isaac is a lost cause, he literally jumped out the window after breaking out.    
  
Derek is regretting a lot of things in this moment; mainly, he’s regretting the not-so-brilliant idea to tie a bunch of superpowered werewolves to a rusty old heap. Derek regrets wearing a tank top because it doesn’t afford much protection against his moon-mad pack. Derek regrets not getting around to training these idiots sooner. Its kind of embarrassing that Scott has done so well with only Stiles to help for most of it.  Mostly, he regrets being a failure of an Alpha.   
  
By some miracle, Isaac comes back, and helps subdue Boyd and Erica. Derek takes a deep breath of relief when he gets his pack back under control, and chained up for the night.  He’s thinking of texting Stiles after getting changed out of his bloody clothing, when Lydia makes an appearance. He is startled enough that he isn’t able to react quickly when the overwhelming smell of wolfsbane hits him. He has a moment to wonder what was wrong with the girl, and then he is falling, and he is limp and weak, and the only thought in his head is  **Stiles** .   
  


* * *

  
  
Derek regains consciousness on the floor of his burned out house; the smell of ash and mold and damp that he is intimately familiar with tickles his nose. His heart tries to beat its way through his chest because nothing good can come from being here, after being dragged by Lydia Martin.    
  
He tries to stop her or say something but he is just too weak. Derek watches her, dread pooling deep in his chest when he realizes where he was laying, and who he was laying next to. He gasps for air, begging Lydia to stop what she was doing, knowing that whatever she was planning would only bring a world of pain for everyone.  Then she places his hand against the cold, decaying flesh of Peter’s corpse and his sight narrows to a single point of panic, and the air leaves his lungs in a rush.    
  
Derek thought he knew what terror was, but he is learning that he knows nothing.    


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so this chapter was totes supposed to be about when the sheriff finds out about the whole situation. but i was tackled by derek feels and wrote this instead. going to write some Pack and then a Stiles. and then another one of these.  
> love you pretty babies.


	4. Something Scaly This Way Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt is cray-cray and the Sheriff finds out about being a grandparent in the worst way.

Stiles has never been invited to a party like this, a real party with real people and real drinks. Granted, most of the popular people skipped out now that Lydia is not only part of the Island of Misfit Toys, she’s also got the town rep for being batshit crazycakes, what with the running around naked in the woods and having mental breakdowns in class. Unfortunately, this means that first half of the party is so boring, it hurts. Stiles fixes that with a quick phone call to her new friends, because there has never been, and never will be, a party that cannot be made epic by a group of drag queens intent on being fabulous.   
  
So, cool party bro, except for the fact that someone put some strong ass shit in the punch; because even Scott is ten kinds of fucked up. Stiles is now the only one not tripping balls, for which she both blames and thanks her own personal parasite. Here she is at her first party with the pretty people, and she is stone cold sober.     
  
It’s not that Stiles wants to be popular, exactly.  It’s just...being the sheriff’s kid has its drawbacks - no one ever wants to invite the girl whose dad can throw everyone in jail. And now, she’s at a party with truly prime booze, and she can’t have any (dammit, that punch looks delicious!) Being knocked up ruins everything.    
  
Her pity party hits an all time high when Danielle dunks her head in the mini pool thing - which, by the way, is completely uncalled for. Drowning has never been a cure for night time morning sickness, and oh god, is this constant vomitting a thing? It’s a thing, and it sucks; why does werebaby hate her so?  Now she’s wet, she’s cold, her mouth tastes of puke, Scott is tripping on something, and Jackson is freaking the fuck out. Stiles has never wanted a drink more in her life than she does right now....which is the exact moment that somebody throws Creeper Matt into the water to drown for reals.     
  
Stiles steps forward to help, but before she can make a move, Jackson is pulling Matt out of the pool, and that’s when Stiles realizes Matt is Evil Splinter to Jackson’s Evil Ninja Mutant Turtle. Lizard. Reptile thing.    
  
This night officially blows. And she definitely needs a drink.    
  


* * *

  
  
“Not doing it,” Scott announces as they pull into her driveway. Stiles rolls her eyes and gives him a look. Well duh, of course he’s not going to be the one to try and convince her dad that Matt is the murdering psychopath. Scott can barely convince people that he doesn’t have mashed potato for brains.   
  
“This is going to suck balls,” Stiles sighs, climbing out of the Jeep and heading to her room. They spend ten minutes bickering, while trying to find the yearbook that they need to prove their theory.    
  


* * *

  
  
Her dad is less than impressed with their Scooby Doo detective skills, and says skeptically, “The swim team? You think this Matt kid is killing everyone on that swim team?” Stiles and Scott nod in unison. “Why?”   
  
“Because the swim team sucks?” Stiles snarks half-heartedly. Her dad gives her his best  not-buying-what-you-are-selling-little-girl look. “Okay, so we don’t have a solid motive, but he is connected. Can’t you just trust me?”    
  
“Trust you?” her dad scoffs, and oh, she isn’t prepared for how badly that stings. She barely suppresses a flinch.  The worst part is that she’s  **still** lying to him through her teeth, and he knows it. With all the lies she’s told just these past few weeks, one would think she’d be better at it. But she’s not, and she never will be, because this is her  **dad** , her only family left, and it hurts to keep him constantly in the dark and to have nothing but lies pouring out of her mouth.     
  
Sometimes, she’s just so tired of lying, of covering for Scott, of covering for Derek and the pack, of covering for herself.  How did things get this bad between her and her father?  She thought she’d be able to fix things; she was supposed to still have time! Time to earn back his trust and bring him into the whole werewolf situation, and then ease him into the whole Derek thing, and god, have time to explain that he was going to be a granddad.  Jesus, her life has gone to shit, and she has no clue how to even start fixing anything.     
  
“Trust Scott?” Stiles forces the words from her mouth, feeling like she’s speaking through a mouthful of glass.  It’s all she can do to not break down and just cry all the tears left in her body. She swallows it down, because she’s a fucking boss and there is no crying in baseball.   
  
“Him, I trust.”    
  
Stiles absolutely does not sniffle the whole way to the police station, no matter what Scott - or anyone else, for that matter -  thinks.  Fuck her motherfucking life.   


* * *

  
  
So, because her dad is a badass, even though he’s supposed to be fired, they just let him into the sheriff’s office anyway. Granted, the deputies all give her death glares so cold, she’s getting frostbite while walking down the hallway. Stiles makes a promise to herself to win the next pie eating contest at the annual police ball...except, that’s right, her dad is no longer part of the police force; thus, no ball for Stiles-derella.  Honestly, can things get any shittier?   
  
Oh, it can, and it does. Stiles takes a moment to savor the fact that - yet again! - she was right, and Scott was wrong. Her finely honed cop-like instincts should never be ignored, because bam, motherfuckers! Creeptacular Matt is pointing a gun at them and looking all kinds of evil. Stiles is infinitely proud of herself for not trying to cover her stomach or anything so cowardly. She does whimper a little, though, because boy, that gun is too close for comfort.   


* * *

  
  
“Tighter,” Matt orders, motioning with his gun as Stiles handcuffs her dad to the loop on the wall made exactly for that purpose.    
  
“Jesus, man, I mean, I know you have the gun and hold all the power, but...We don’t need to hurt him,” Stiles mutters, as she fumbles with the cuffs.  She’s trying to keep her hands from shaking too hard. Matt, predictably, doesn’t pay attention to her perfectly reasonable suggestion, and presses the gun hard against her temple.   
  
She looks at her dad, who gives her a firm nod. So she grits her teeth, and she does it, anger and self-blame mixing in her gut. This is her fault - and also definitely mostly Matt’s fault - but if she hadn’t been so wrapped up in baby-daddy drama these last few days, she might have caught this pattern sooner and prevented it. Now, she’s put her dad in the line of fire, literally, and she’s coming up blank with plans to get them out of the situation with all limbs intact.    
  
They leave her father tied up outside the cells, and Matt shoves Stiles and Scott out of the door.  And oh Jesus, she glances down the hallway and, oh god, so many bodies splayed out on the floor, blood seeping across the concrete. She’d known all these people. She’d joked around with them, brought them donuts, got them to hide the donuts from her dad. And they were all dead, because of her.  Nausea bubbles up from deep in her stomach, and she scrambles for the corner, spewing up acid and bile, burning the back of her throat and her nose.   
  
“The fuck is wrong with her?” Matt snarls over the sounds of Stiles expelling all the contents of her stomach.    
  
She finally stops, hacking and gasping for breath.  She wipes her mouth with her sleeve, then looks at Matt. “Look, I’m going to reach into my pocket, ok? You know we’re not carrying anything, you’d taken our phones and stuff already. I just...I just need to get rid of the taste of vomit in my mouth, ok?” She slowly inches her hand towards her shirt’s front pocket.   
  
“Is that a fucking  **toothbrush** , Stiles?” Matt’s voice shoots up in amazement.  Scott looks at her in horrified bewilderment, like she’d done lost her everloving mind.   
  
“I always carry them around, they’re fucking handy, ok? I always wanted to be a Boy Scout, always prepared. Girl Scouts were lame, all they did was sell cookies,” Stiles sticks the waterless mini-toothbrush in her mouth and scrubs violently, trying to drown out the taste of stomach acid. She makes a point not to look at anything on the floor that used to be people.   
  
“Are you fucking serious?” Matt grits his teeth, and Stiles would laugh at the expression on her face, except, hello, bullet holes are not a good time.   
  
Scott stammers out, “Stiles has excellent dental hygiene! And she’s always been really bad with, like, dead things and blood. Don’t you remember the pig in Biology?” Scott is making a great effort, valiant even, to keep Matt busy while she attends to her dental care and to planning their great escape (she’s coming up with nothing for the latter, but at least her mouth is minty fresh!)    
  
“I didn’t have Biology with either of you,” Matt glares, fingers clenching hard around the butt of the gun.   
  
“I thought the whole school heard about it!” Scott flails, sounding rattled. “Right, Stiles?”   
  
“Totally common knowledge that I have vomit issues,” Stiles agrees, nodding like a particularly deranged bobble head doll. She swallows and jokes feebly, “How do you think I keep my girlish figure?” Matt’s not buying it, and shoves at the two of them again. Stiles is getting so tired of men pushing her around, and she’s gonna do something about it sometime. After they get out of this alive, that is.    
  


* * *

  
It kills something in Stiles to destroy evidence, it really does; her dad would be proud at how angry she is that they’re fucking up an ongoing investigation. Small furry animals screech in her head as they shred documents and permanently erase video footage. Stiles wants to smash Matt’s face in for this alone, the fucktard.    
  
They hear a car pull up moments later, and Scott starts panicking because he’s certain it’s his mom, and Matt still has that stupid gun. Scott tries to delay, and says that he is going to send his mom away. Matt is no fool.   
  
“Either you start moving, or I’m going to shoot Stiles first, and then your mom,” Matt threatens. Stiles would like to take this moment to say that she really, really, doesn’t want to get shot, and she’s doubly glad that Scott is smart enough not to throw down the pregnant lady card, because Matt is completely unhinged, and killing one more pregnant woman isn’t going to slow him down any.   
  
But when they open the door, it’s not Scott’s mom standing there; it’s Derek.   
  
“Oh, thank god.” Scott says aloud, which is premature, because Derek topples over a second  later to reveal a very lizardy looking Jackson standing behind him.    
  
And seriously, if it weren’t for the fact that they have a crazy gunman pointing a loaded firearm at them, and a reptilian creepy thing standing there twitching its tail and hissing, Stiles would totally be jumping up and down yelling about how cliche this moment was; doesn’t anyone watch horror movies anymore, because this is so predictable.  The expression must have been very clear on her face because Derek looks unimpressed by her inner critic. Stiles takes comfort in the fact that nothing, not even being paralyzed by a lizard man, could shake Derek’s innate sense of superiority over all the worthless beings in this room.   
  
“This is the one controlling him?” Derek rolls his eyes at them and gives Matt a disgusted once over. “This kid?”  Stiles has a borderline-hysterical thought that being paralyzed isn’t stopping Derek from being a raging asshole. Typical.   
  
“Well, Derek, not everyone is lucky enough to be a big, bad, werewolf,” Matt drawls sarcastically.  Commence shocked pause, except for Stiles who is busy trying not to heave again. This baby obviously takes after Derek, with its poor sense of timing and lack of self preservation. “Oh, that’s right. I’ve learned a few things lately; werewolves, hunters, Kanimas. It’s like a freaking Halloween party every full moon,” Matt pauses and looks at Stiles in deeply creepy way that she doesn’t appreciate, “Except for you Stiles. What do you turn into?”   
  
Sarcasm is her only defense.    
  
“Abominable Snowman. But it’s more of a winter time thing, like, seasonal. Bumbles, bounce, and all that.” Not her best on-the-spot reference, but it will have to do. Matt glares at her for a second, and then shifts his eyes, and jerks his head in command. Stiles feels the slice on her neck, and has just enough time to say “Bitch!” on her way down.    
  
Good news! Stiles landed on top of Derek - so much better than the floor. Nicer smelling too, if not particularly soft and cushy. Bad news! Can’t move.    
  
“Get her off of me,” Derek grunts, acting as though a ton of bricks had landed on him. It wounds; she weighs about half a ton at most, and most of it is werebaby weight. And donuts. Stiles considers throwing up all over his stupid face out of sheer spite.    
  
“I don’t know, Derek. I think you make a pretty good pair,” Matt declares almost agreeably, if one ignores the crazy eyes and popping veins.  “Especially since I figured out who Stiles has the hots for, after she turned down my generous offer of Jackson’s...company.”    
  
“What?” Scott pipes up, confused. Per usual.   
  
“That thing in the van,” Stiles mumbles into Derek’s shirt. Scott makes the blank face that means he is scanning his memory files for the data before it clicks.    
  
“Oh, right, you were offering to order Jackson into having sex with Stiles? Isn’t that, like, beyond the rules of the Kanima?” Scott asks. And oh god, Stiles just wants to pound her head into something hard - like Derek’s well muscled pecs - because it was either that, or murder Scott until he was stone, cold dead. Derek growls deep in his chest, the sound rattling Stiles’ teeth.    
  
“Not particularly fond of that idea?” Matt taunts Derek, “Of course not. You don’t want anyone else poaching on your baby mama.” There was dead silence in the room; no noise except for the low buzz of the fluorescent lighting.   
  
“How do you know that Stiles is pregnant?” Scott yelps loud enough that he could probably be heard clear across town.   
  
“Stiles is  **what** ?” And oh god, she’d forgotten about her dad being tied up just down the hallway. And he obviously heard Scott.   
  
“Thanks for that, Scott. Remind me to kill you so very dead as soon as possible.” Stiles mutters into Derek’s chest.    
  
“STILES IS PREGNANT?” Her dad yells, clearly freaking out, and she could hear the cuffs rattling against each other. Matt laughs maniacally while Stiles groans in response, and Derek snarls. Thanks to the chorus of noise, it takes all of them a moment to hear yet another car engine turn off, and the front door open.   
  
“Scott, looks like your mom has come to join the party,” Matt laughs. Scott tries to put up a fight, which Matt does appreciate. He shows his displeasure by kicking Stiles off Derek so he can put his foot on her throat, and presses down, hard. There is a high pitched buzzing noise in her ears and dots are dancing in her vision as Stiles tries to breathe, panicking because she can’t move and protect herself.  Scott folds, drooping in defeat, and Matt moves his foot off Stiles’ neck. He motions Scott out into the hall.    
  
“That was not how I wanted Dad to find out about the baby,” Stiles mumbles hoarsely, her throat feeling bruised.   
  
“How is... are you...” Derek gulps, words failing him completely.    
  
“It’s only the first trimester, idiot. I could somersault down the stairs, and we’d be just fine,” Stiles assures him.    
  
“I was more concerned about toxin, Stiles,” Derek snaps.    
  
“Oh. Yeah. That. Um...we should still be cool, I think. It’s mostly muscular paralysis; I don’t think it was enough to affect internal organs, I’m pretty sure,” Stiles says, hoping she’s right.    


* * *

  
  
“Why does it smell like blood?” Stiles asks, as the scent hits her, making her stomach protest loudly and insistently. Stiles breathes through her mouth and tries to convince werebaby to please, please behave because vomitting while lying prone and paralyzed is a very bad, possibly fatal idea. She’s been only half listening as Derek attempted to explain something about jump starting the healing process to push the toxin out.    
  
“...” Derek’s silence is so very judgemental in tone. Stiles looks down to see that Derek has his claws digging into his own legs.    
  
“Gross, dude,” Stiles makes a face and looks away quickly.   
  
They are just starting to feel their toes when gunfire erupts. Stiles swears that if she gets out of this,  she will never go to a party again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Sorry this took so long. Work got crazy, then I got crazy sick. Everyone thanks H for making it pretty because I really didn’t have it in me to write pretty this time. 
> 
> Hboy: aj’weifj lafj’lasjfa’lgka’dskjfawpefjasdfasd’efrasd/ Beta-ing and rewriting and finding words is hard work, for reals.
> 
> How editing works with us. I write. I share the google doc. Then I sit with it open and awkardly watch H edit, sometimes yelling at her for changing things that are cannon. (WATCH SEASON TWO ALREADY THIS IS GETTING SILLY!) H normally groans about how much she hates editing sex and angst. Then I laugh because that’s pretty much all there is in these stories. Today are largest fight was about the god damn tooth brush. I swear a good half hour on that one part. We need help.


	5. Here Lies Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone faces a rough time. And now the nightmare is real.
> 
> un-bated. 
> 
> (title and second line from Everything You Ever - Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog)

H Beta edited: 4/19/2013

 

* * *

 

Derek appears above her. The look on his face flickers through a hundred, a thousand different expressions that coalesces into something achingly clear, but still not something she fully recognizes.

****

Stiles has pushed herself onto her back, lying on the floor just a few feet from the cells where her father is locked in. She had dragged herself on half-numb arms to where the danger was, to where her loved ones were; unable to wait until she had full control of her body.  She had crawled, clawed, pulled her useless body using her fingers, tearing out her nails, while cursing Scott in her head for leaving her in that room so far from her father. From Derek.

****

Stiles is just in time to see Matt pistol whip her father, Derek fight the Kanima, and to see Melissa’s horrified face when she learns the truth about Scott.  So many things happen in just a few minutes, that Stiles’ head spins, her mind unable to grasp exactly what was going on.

****

Then they all just vanish;  Derek, Scott, Jackson, Matt were gone and she is still on the floor, exhausted and scared, while she and Melissa try to see about waking her dad up. Melissa leaves to try and call...whom, exactly? The police are all dead. Maybe an ambulance. Or, more probably, the guys with the white jackets, because shit has been all kinds of cray.

****

Time fractures when you’re having a crisis, because suddenly,  Derek is back. Appearing out of nowhere, per usual, like an occasionally furry ninja.

****

“Oh, good, you're not dead,” she croaks, too tired to even reach up and touch his face.  Derek crouches down and pushes the hair gently out of her eyes. “I am maybe going to need some back up when my dad wakes up,” she continues, tilting her head towards his touch.  Derek actually smiles, but it’s tight and shattered and so, so wrong.

****

“Stiles,” he whispers hoarsely. “I have to go.”

****

“Well, yeah, the werepuppies are still locked up and we can’t have you found at the crime scene, exonerated or not,” she mumbles at him, but Derek is shaking his head almost the instant the words leave her mouth.

****

“No,” Derek says with absolute certainty.

****

“Oh,” Stiles hears herself say, but she doesn’t feel the words. The numbness crawls back up from her legs to her lips, and she’s suddenly so fucking cold. Derek is leaving. Like, leaving. He’s not just leaving to go to deal with his pack, or to lie low and hide; he’s abandoning ship.  He’s leaving her. She can feel her brain shutting down like an overburdened computer, leaving only the essential programs running. She wishes everything would just stop, because when the system crashes, it’s going to be brutal.

****

“Gerard,” Derek says, as though that explains everything. And maybe in his verbally and emotionally constipated world, it does. Except she’s not fluent in Uncommunicative Asshole, so no, that really didn’t clear up a fucking thing.  She recognizes the name, but she’s not processing. All she can focus on is Derek, looking at her with an expression that she can’t, won’t, refuses to recognize. The eyebrows aren’t even moving, and that’s even more devastating than she can ever express.

****

“Okay,” Stiles responds mechanically. What’s another lie to add to the mountainous pile she’s created?  

****

Derek leans down and kisses her forehead. Then, he’s gone.

****

Her dad regains consciousness to find her curled up in a ball on the floor, sobs shaking her body. He doesn’t even yell about the pregnancy thing, just reaches out to hold her hand.  Melissa comes in with the EMTs, but Stiles half wishes for a padded room, instead.

****

 

* * *

 

****

Stiles doesn’t go to school on Monday. She doesn’t leave her bed except to piss and drink, can’t even muster the energy to bathe, to change clothes, to chew on real food. Her dad tries to talk to her, but duty calls and he has to wrap up the investigation. She finally drags herself out of bed to  shovel down a tub of cookie dough, and then throws it all up three hours later.

****

Scott doesn’t call. Neither does Derek.

****

On Tuesday, they hold the funerals for the deputies. Stiles doesn’t have a black dress - at least, not one that actually fits. So, she calls Lydia to borrow one. They don’t talk when Lydia comes over, a bag slung over her arm, a hangered dress swinging from a crooked finger. They go upstairs to Stiles’ room, still without a word. But Lydia does spend twenty minutes brushing and curling Stiles’ hair, gently smoothing out the tangles and letting the strands run through her fingers. Lydia even accompanies her to the funerals and holds her hand. Stiles clutches back as though they were a lifeline.

****

Scott doesn’t come. She doesn’t look in the shadows for Derek.

****

By Wednesday,  she knows has to go back to school. It was a bad idea. All she can focus on is that they’re all gone; Isaac. Erica. Boyd. Scott is there, he’s just not speaking to her.  Stiles can’t muster the energy to care.  Allison shows up near the end of the day, but she doesn’t speak to anyone, gliding up and down the school hallways like a greyed out ghost. News makes it around school that Allison’s mom killed herself the night of the attack.  Stiles has the morbid thought that Allison’s joined the Kids of Single Parent’s Club.  Then she has to stop and breathe, because soon enough, her kid will be joining that club too.

****

She cries herself to sleep that night, arms clutched around her still-flat stomach.

****

Thursday, Stiles wakes up good and truly pissed, rage burning in her veins. The righteous anger is bright and cleansing, burning away the numbness and hollowness of these last few days. Her fury narrows its focus on Derek and Scott and the pack. How dare he! How dare they all treat her like a useless, brainless thing!  Well, fuck their furry asses. She doesn’t need any of them.

****

Stiles kicks off the covers, standing there in her ratty t-shirt, nearly vibrating with her fury.  She’s done being the weak female. She’s done with the weeping and wailing and emoting.  She’ll be damned if she’s going to be the hapless girl  unable to make any decisions without a man by her side.  If she is going to do this by herself, she will be fucking awesome at it, and everyone else can jump off a steep cliff.

****

She stomps to her computer, logs on and gets to work. She orders books online; baby books, parenting books, self defence books. She pulls up preliminary research on ADD, medication and effects on pregnancy.  She subscribes to three websites about teen parenting and joins an online support group.  

****

When Stiles marches down the stairs later that morning, her dad pauses, cup of coffee held up to his lips. He looks at her like...well, like he didn’t expect to see her for at least another week of moping.

****

“No more playing victim,” she tells him, sitting down at the table, then reaches out and steals a slice of toast from his plate. She pretends it’s Scott’s face, then Derek’s and takes a vicious bite, masticating like she is chewing on the bones of her fallen (fr)enemies.  Her dad nods, slides a plate of eggs towards her, and gently cups his hand on her shoulder.  She shudders in relief - because she knows he understands and that he’ll be there, like always, like noone else has -  reaches up to squeeze his fingers, and they both go back to eating. Stiles chews in a more normal, and certainly less cannibalistic fashion. They finish breakfast in a far more companionable silence.

****

Stiles makes an appointment to see the guidance counselor the following week.

****

They make it to Friday before her dad finally breaks.

****

“You going to tell me who the father is?” He asks, as they stab unenthusiastically at the lasagna slowly congealing on their plates. Stiles reaches out to grab her backpack off the table and digs for the papers, the ones from the clinic. They are wrinkled and torn at the edges, but still legible. She slides them across the table.

****

Her dad stares at the packet. He reaches out slowly like he is afraid the papers would rear up and bite him. The frown lines on his head deepen as he starts reading. And reading. And reading. The moment he hits the page about the father is really obvious, because he hisses out a breath.

****

“Orphan?” her dad reads out, tone rising into a question.  

****

Stiles spares a thought that this is not their normal kind of conversation. Before everything, at this point, her dad should be yelling, and she’d be howling back, and both of them would be talking a mile a minute over each other. There would be wild gesticulating, some foot stomping, a little emotional manipulation, then ending with the patented Stilinksi Hug. The victor gets a point on the scorecard and all the fried chicken, the loser eats kale for dinner. This reserved, concise method of communication is apparently their new normal; at least, since the night the station became a battleground.  She kind of misses the yelling. She doesn’t miss the kale all that much, power veggie or no.

****

“Yeah,” she answers. Because that bit about Peter being alive and kicking  doesn’t count.

****

“Is that why you changed your mind about..?” He holds up the papers. Stiles firms her chin, but she can feel tears forming at the corners of her eyes. She blinks them back, furiously. There is no crying in baseball. Or, in this case, teenage single motherhood. All the single ladies, put your hands up. She nods.

****

“Didn’t have it in me to take that from him,” she forces out from her suddenly tight throat.  It would be easier now if she could, seeing as there is a chance he might never come back. Also she’s seen enough Teen Mom, ok; enought that she’s worried she’ll end up like some pathetic girl on a scripted MTV show.

****

“Do I know him?”

****

Stiles shrugs. Her dad knows who Derek is, but he doesn’t know Derek. Doesn’t know that he is happy about the baby in his own constipated way. Doesn’t know that Derek actually did send her his credit report the night of the party, the ass. Doesn’t know that he feels responsible for every death so far, even the ones Peter committed. Doesn’t know that Derek needs her.

****

“Am I going to shoot him or arrest him when you cave and tell me who he is?” And there was the intense ‘I’m your Father, young lady, so answer my question’ stare lasering into her head.  She is surprised to realize she’d really missed that look.

****

“You might not need to. His body might never be found,” Stiles jokes morbidly, because there are a lot of people who want  Derek dead these days.  Sometimes (most of the time, all the time, lately), she’s one of them.

****

Her dad snorts with laughter. “Oh, fine. But I would like to know who the father of my grandchild is before I know the sex of said child,” her dad motions at her with a fork.

****

“That’s...a reasonable deadline.” Stiles agrees. Only she has no idea if she can keep it.

****

 

* * *

 

****

“Just go check,” Isaac urges, forehead knotted in worry.

****

“No,” Derek growls at him.

****

Isaac throws his hands in the air in frustration at Derek’s stubbornness, and at the whole fucked-up situation.  They’ve been cooped up for days, and when they aren’t in hiding, he, Boyd and Erica are driving out after dark, stealing off to towns far away for supplies.  The life of a fugitive is neither fun nor exciting, and with Hunters after their asses, it’s downright stressful. And then, Boyd and Erica run off on an errand, and don’t come back. Isaac thinks they’ve holed up in a hotel room somewhere, getting room service and having sexy times on a real bed. He thinks they’ll be back once they’ve got their fill of civilization. Derek thinks otherwise.

****

Isaac knows that his own frustration is nothing in comparison to Derek’s; at least he can actually go outside and do something, even if it’s just running out to get more food. But since he’s the hunters’ main target, Derek needs to constantly stay hidden away. That’s enough to drive the most patient saint to start clawing at the walls. And Derek? Not a saint. The walls? They’ll never recover. Much like Isaacs sanity.

****

Derek has also ordered them all to stay away from Stiles for her own safety.  And - though unsaid -  it was understood that their distance would also keep the baby safe.  They’re all pretty certain that the hunters don’t know that Stiles is carrying Derek’s child, and they plan to keep it that way. But Isaac can see that the separation is wearing on Derek, ramping up his frustration, his anger, and his badly hidden fear for Stiles and WereBaby.

****

Derek hasn’t said a thing about the baby since the night of the full moon. The pack has learned not to even mention Stiles or the baby in Derek’s hearing, lest he completely lose his shit. But sometimes, it’s not even her name. In fact, just a few days previously, Boyd had mentioned something about Blade Runner in passing, and took a fist to the face for the inadvertent reminder of Stiles.  It’s a real conversation killer, honestly.  Also, another pressing reason as to why Boyd ran off to get some sweet hotel action.

****

Which leads back to why Isaac is trying - yet again -  to convince Derek to check on Stiles and WereBaby, and getting shut down as hard and fast as previous times.  

****

Then there is Derek’s other command: There will be no talking to Scott, ever again. And, to prove just how serious he was about it, that order had come with violence and rage. When that storm passed, the air was thick with bitter silence that left Isaac and the others wondering what Derek isn’t telling them.

****

“Then, I’ll go check,” Isaac offers, hoping that this time, Derek would actually agree. It wouldn’t be that hard really, Stiles leaves her window open almost year round, and the roof had some good angles. No one would see him; he can check to make sure she’s ok, maybe take some photos and videos, then bring it back to Derek so he can calm the fuck down and stop being an asshole.

****

“I said no,” Derek growls. “Stay away from them.” And Isaac has to look away at the expression on Derek’s face; tortured wasn’t even close to describing it.  Derek snarls under his breath, then starts pacing restlessly, fingers curling and uncurling.

****

“For how long?” Isaac hesitantly asks the question he had been holding back for days. Derek stops and glares at Isaac.

****

“For as long as I say!” Derek roars. Isaac takes a step back and nods silently. Clearly, Derek was not going to cave on this. So, he does the one thing he knows he really shouldn’t do.

****

He sneaks out to see Scott.

 

* * *

 

****

Isaac isn’t really sure what he is expecting when Scott shows up. But he is not expecting for Scott to look crushed to see him, or to look so frayed around the edges, or - most importantly -  for the scent of Stiles to be so faint. It’s that weak smell that bugs Isaac the most, because this means that Scott hasn’t seen her in days.

****

Stiles is like gravity for the werewolves, Isaac understands now. She is so much more than just the girl, the joker, the entertainment. She is their weird centerpiece; the cog that they wheel around, keeping them moving and spinning in their proper place.  And the lack of her presence is keenly felt; even uber-confident Erica feels twitchy and unmoored without Stiles. The pack grinds against rather than with each other without Stiles’ chatter and noise and overwhelming sense of home to lubricate the friction.

****

Isaac pulls his attention back to the task at hand and talks with Scott. And because this is just the way his life is, the conversation goes poorly. Isaac just wants a handy wall to bang his head against.

****

“I never have any idea what I am doing,” Scott admits ruefully when Isaac points out that, at least, Scott tries to do the right thing. Why he is trying to reassure Scott, when he should be focusing on getting information, is beyond him. They lapse into silence.

****

To be fair, being around Scott has always been weird for Isaac. That first day after he’d taken the bite,  Isaac had been half mad with the change. But Scott had broken through the weird haze that surrounded everything, and had been the only thing in focus. And ever after, there is a sharp, near painful  tug in his chest whenever he thinks about Scott or is near him.  Part of him wants to run, because pain is not his friend; yet he can’t seem to stay away - even if it would be smarter to do so.

****

Isaac has good control of his shift when he was around either Derek or Stiles, but he has near complete authority when he is around Scott. He worries sometimes if that meant Scott was his real Alpha, despite everything he had gone through with Derek.

****

“Where is Stiles?” Isaac asks, breaking the quiet.

****

“At home, I think,” Scott shrugs casually, like it didn’t matter. Which is so wrong on so many levels that Isaac can feel his body tensing, as though preparing to defend...or attack.

****

“What happened?” And isn’t that the million dollar question? What happened, where is everyone, when did it fall apart around them, why and what do they do now?

****

“Her dad got hurt. People she knew died. And she got pregnant,” Scott lists out, sounding tired and defeated. It bothers Isaac that Scott looks so lost, because Scott never looks lost. Then again, Scott is never without Stiles.  “It’s a lot to deal with.”

****

“She would never let that stop her,” Isaac tells him firmly, because this is a fact of the universe, much like gravity.  Isaac doesn’t think about the way his heart jumps when Scott smiles, or the way his stomach dips when Scott hugs him.

****

 

* * *

 

****

“Are you going to tell me why you haven’t tried to find Derek?” Scott asks her in the locker room. It’s the night of the big game, the night where everything comes to a head. After his conversation with Isaac, Scott had decided to put on his big boy pants and finally ask his best friend the things he needs to know, to hear, before something horrible happens.

****

“Are you?” She shoots back. They have only been talking for a few hours and it’s painfully awkward and the same as always all at once.

****

“Fair point.” Scott pulls at his pads and looks at his friend. She looks thinner and paler, and as though she hasn’t had a good night sleep since the night at the Police Department. And she’s so unhappy - he can see it, no matter how hard she tries to pretend otherwise; Scott feels the knife twist in his gut because he can’t tell her, not yet. He needs to work out some things. He needs to protect her first. “Just...stay off the field, okay?”

****

“Okay,” Stiles nods. “And you keep Isaac alive.”

****

Scott keeps up his end of the deal. Stiles doesn’t.

****

 

* * *

 

To: Derek

From: Scott

****

Gerard has Stiles.

****

Derek doesn’t remember howling. He only remembers seeing red.

****

 

* * *

 

**  
H Beta Notes 4/19/2013: Aw yeah, i am back. And ready to edit/rewrite all the things. Also, I apologize for the terrible things I say about kale, because everyrone knows kale is delicious. I just think it’s a deeply unattractive looking vegetable, and so easy to cook poorly. Also, KALE. It rhymes with Hale.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got angst. Also Scisaac is going to happen. I figure if I take two penises out some where I should put it back in somewhere else.


	6. Take it like a Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles protects what is important to her and tries to make amends. Peter lets some information out and Derek thinking about raising the body count. Isaac is in love with Scott....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SO SORRY! Things got crazy and I had to put off updating. And then I had most of this planned out and ready and I cut the hugest chunk of skin off my finger and couldn't type last night.
> 
> So here is the draft. No edits or proof read at all. It will be eventually but here is something so you don't burn me at the stake.
> 
> Love you all. Sorry for the shenanigans.
> 
> EDITED 4/22/2013

"You are aware that my dad is the sheriff!" Stiles shouts as they drag her down the hallway. The bag over her head makes it hard to tell where she is, but the old man smell gives away the identity of who had snatched her.

****

I have been kidnapped by a crazy grandpa, she mouths silently to herself. Uh, yeah, sounds even crazier when it’s out in the open and not repeating in her skull.  She grits her teeth and thinks that it would have been great if Scott or Derek had taken the time out of their busy schedules of being A+ assholes to tell her that Gerard had the Kanima.

****

"Oh, you won't be gone long," Gerard assures her, tone amused and indulgent. It raises the hair on her arms and on the back of her neck. Now she knows that they’re not going to kill her. They were going use her to teach Scott a lesson. She turns her head, listening to his steps receding, even as the hunters holding her tighten their grip and push her forward, down a flight of stairs.

****

If the situation was different, she would take her beating like a boss. She’d rock the split lip and black eye, and show off her badass bruises. Except it’s not just her, now. There’s tiny little ball of flesh and nerves and veins growing in her; there’s her WereBaby to protect.

****

Add on the Derek element into the equation, and you’re looking at a clusterfuck that she is just not equipped to handle, or to explain to the authorities. He might have run off to do whatever he was doing (grooming his eyebrows, filing his claws, whitening his fangs, who the fuck knows) and he hasn’t shown his face since that night at the police department. But there’s no doubt that he has serious  issues with people hurting those he considered his. And though Stiles might no longer be on his radar, WereBaby is another matter.

****

They pull the hood off her head to reveal a dimly lit basement, push her deeper into the room, and they leave without a word. Stiles blinks, trying to get her eyes to adjust to the suddenly light to take in the surroundings and get a good look at who she was dealing with. This might be another day in the eternal saga of Werewolves versus Hunters, part who-the-fuck-cares, but there is no way she’s not bringing in her dad and the weight of the Beacon Hill PD to start arresting these bastards. Stiles does not deal well with being terrified for her future offspring.  Uber protectiveness runs in the Stilinksi bloodline, obviously.

****

Then she sees them.

****

Boyd and Erica are hanging from the ceiling, bleeding, beaten up, and looking like they’re this close to death. Stiles slaps a hand over her mouth to stop the scream that bubbles in her throat. Tears are streaming down Erica's face, and Boyd...Boyd has what looks like unhealed arrow wounds slowly oozing blood down his chest.

****

Her body is moving before her brain catches up, and Stiles reaches for the ties holding Erica and Boyd. The sparking sting makes her jerk back in pain an startlement, her fingers twitching uncontrollably and her hands spasming.

****

She didn’t think that anything could horrify her at this point, but the knowledge that for all the time they’ve been tied up, every minute they’ve been hanging in this basement, that current of electricity has been dancing through Erica and Boyd. It was ingenious torture: the current was high enough to inflict maximum pain without completely incapacitating, forcing their bodies to heal itself, only to be ripped up again and again and again. Stiles bites her lip and looks around for anything that she could use. It doesn’t help her slowly escalating panic when she figures out where the fuck she actually is; she is in Allison's creepy basement.

****

So much for that friendship with Allison. So much for a lot of things. This is not a good situation to be in, this is not something she is going to walk away from unscathed. It’s at that moment that Gerard Argent steps out of the shadows. How long he’d been watching her fruitlessly try to help her friends, she doesn’t know.  He smiles, and there is something hideous and unseemly about it. She represses a shudder, not willing to give him the satisfaction of showing just how scared she is.

****

"Scott will find me," Stiles voice trembles despite her best efforts. She knows it’s a useless threat, but it makes her feel better to say it.

****

"That's nice," he responds, smile widening. She’s hypnotized by that grin and not paying close enough attention, so when his fist connects hard against her cheek, she’s unprepared. The pain explodes from her cheek and radiates out into her eye, her nose, into her brain. She stumbles back and throws her arms out to catch herself, except she’s dragged back forward by her shirt.

****

Gerard holds her steady, fingers wrapped tight around her shirt’s neckline, making sure that his own, personal, squishy punching bag stays within reach.

****

The second blow is worse. And by the third, Stiles is pretty fucking sure she might be crying. She can taste blood in her mouth from where her teeth cut her inner cheek. She can feel something trickling down her face, but can’t be sure if it’s blood or tears. And yet...maybe she finally hit her fear limit, because her brain clears and starts processing. She needs to make sure that he keeps hitting her face and nowhere else.

****

And because her brain decided that getting pummelled is a great time for personal revelations, she has a moment of clarity. She wasn't crazy about getting pregnant - still isn't really. She wakes up most mornings and thinks about filling out that rest of that paperwork, because - let’s be real - this is no return policy; this is a forever kind of commitment..

****

Yet, every time she thinks about it, every time she wants to be smart and a little bit selfish and starts to reach for a pen and the paperwork, she sees burned out shell of a house. That stupid, fucking tomb that Derek lives in to punish himself. The house is just the tip of the proverbial iceberg; she knows there’s so much more that Derek is hiding beneath the choppy surface.

****

Worst is, she can’t hate Derek completely. Stiles knows what it’s like to be in that dark place. In her case, it’s mostly about waking up with crushing regrets, hating nearly everyone else for h aving a mom, having to grow up wrong and far too quickly because she had to. Derek has abandonment issues on top his trust issues on top of all the other issues, but she gets it; she really does. So she forgives him, deep in her heart. Doesn’t mean he won’t need to grovel and beg before she says it out loud, though.

****

While her brain clicks along, her body goes into automatic “Protect the Offspring!” mode. When Gerard lashes out with a kick at her midsection, Stiles twists and takes the blow on her forearm instead, curling around her arm and bowing her stomach away. There is a deeply upsetting crunching noise, and her arm throbs but the kick doesn't connect with her stomach and that’s all that matters.

****

Stiles realizes she is screaming as she folds to her knees, Erica echoing her behind her gag.

****

"Maybe that will be enough," Gerard hums, not even out of breath, the bastard. With pain spiking through her body, it’s some time before she realizes that one of Gerard’s lackeys has grabbed her by her shirt, and is dragging her out of the basement. She stumbles, feet dragging across the floor, and the goon adjusts his grip to get her up the stairs. Of course, the douchebag  touches her possibly broken arm and she crumples.

****

The door at the top of the stairs opens.

****

Later, Stiles would remember thinking, how funny - dude is actually surprised. It's would be funny because she and Scott had spent weeks being fucking scared of Werewolf Hunter, Chris Argent, and yet, the expression on his face when he sees her bruised, broken face is hilariously awful. His eyes round out and his mouth drops open - no joke, he’s a cartoon character, come to life. Stiles starts laughing, because the only other option is to cry.

****

"What is this?" Chris sounds astonished.

****

"Kidnapping, assault, abuse, among other things" Stiles mumbles, blood trickling out of the corner of her mouth. Chris's eyes widen more, something she hadn’t thought was possible.

.

"Nothing to concern you. Just teaching a lesson," Gerard says casually, but with a whiplash of authority.

****

The asshole holding her arm twists it, and oh god, oh jesus, the pain makes her brain blank out. By the time Stiles stops screaming, they are outside the house. The goon throws her down on the ground and locks the door behind himself.

****

Stiles lays there on the grass for a while. She tries to stop the sobbing breaths pouring out of her mouth. She tries to reboot her brain back into taking control and forcing her body to move, move, move, goddamit!  She thinks about how she got here, about how much it hurts, about how tired she is. Then she thinks whether or not she took those stupid, giant prenatal vitamins earlier that morning.

****

That’s the thought that makes her get up; slowly and painfully, and an eternity later, she’s standing. Then her feet start moving, one in front of the other, and she knows she’s staggering like a drunk, but she doesn’t care: every step away is a step closer to home.

****

Stiles realizes she is crying and she really wants to stop because each time she sniffles, it hurts her face, which makes her cry just a little bit harder. Except, jesus, she’s fucking tired of crying. So she gulps deep, sobbing breaths of air and focuses on moving, and not jarring her broken? fractured? very painful arm.

****

She is so tired. And hurt. But mostly she is just done with this bullshit feuding drama that has taken over her life. What the ever loving jesus fuck? She’s done with all of this!. She just got the shit beaten out of her for what, exactly? To teach Scott and Derek a lesson? What fucking lesson? What could they possibly learn from this? Scott will just get mad and try to protect her, which will undoubtedly make him do something stupid. Derek - well, Derek will try to kill someone, maybe actually do it, maybe fail, but either way, there will be angst.

****

She doesn't even hear the car pulling up and stopping. But she pauses when she hears a voice that, she swears, could make her rise from her grave if it demanded.

.

"Stiles, oh my god, Stiles!" Lydia gasps out.

.

Stiles stops and turns her head to look at beautiful, perfect, horrified Lydia, who stares back with tears pooling in those gorgeously wide eyes, and plump, lip-glossed lips in an “O” of shock and pity.

****

Lydia is out of the car before Stiles really has it together. And then Lydia has her arms wrapped gently around her, with Stiles’ broken arm cradled between their bodies, and Stiles’ free hand creeps around Lydia’s waist to grab hold and find support. Lydia buries her face against the side of Stiles’ neck, and she can feel Lydia's mascara’ed lashes pricking her skin, and their hair is tangled up together, and man, it’s just a mess of snot and tears.

****

And for the first time in too long, Stiles feels like someone really gets what she’s going through and the mess that’s clamouring in her brain, and it’s so, so good to not be a badass motherfucker for a bit.

****

"Lydia, what's wrong?" Stiles asks, voice hoarse from tears and screaming and general dehydration.

****

"What's wrong? What isn't wrong!" Lydia sobs.

****

"Fair point," and Stiles isn’t sure who’s more surprised when she giggles. She’s glad to hear it though; she’s missed the sound of her own laughter.

****

"You picked the worst time ever to go missing," Lydia croaks out, trying for admonishing, and ends up sound fond and exasperated instead.

****

"Not really my choice," Stiles admits. Lydia looks her over, as though finally registering the state she was in.

****

"Your dad is about to put an ABP out you, but maybe we should take you to the hospital first?" Lydia reports, gently guiding her to the car and helping her in.

****

"Well, fuck, let’s get me to the man before the town starts burning. And I’m fine, I just need some advil," Stiles grins, trying not to let on just how much she hurt. The adrenaline is leaving her system, and oh god, she hopes her arm isn’t really broken.

****

Lydia drives her home. They make it all the way to her house before shit really goes south.

****

They walk in on her dad pacing and wondering aloud where she is.

****

"Right here," Stiles gasps, because she just can’t resist an entrance. It's the best thing in the world to feel her dad hold her. The hug might be the best hug in existence. She could live in this hug forever and ever and always be happy. Also, it’s pretty much the only thing keeping her on her feet.

****

Then of course her dad has to ruin it by a) pulling back to get a look at her now very bruised face and b) gets a good grip on her wrist. She shrieks and her knees buckle. Her father catches her, and has her sit on the couch, gently cradling and examining her arm.

****

"Who did this? I swear to god, I’ll shoot the bastard, then throw him in jail, then shoot him again!" Her dad shouts.

****

Stiles thinks hard, trying to find a lie that will neither sink them all, nor get her father involved in the supernatural shoot-em-up drama that is her life. "Dad, it was just some kids from the other team. They got mad about losing." Her dad looks pissed, looking ready to run out and arrest the entire lacrosse team. "Dad, no, stop. I ran my mouth. It's fine, I swear. I'm fine!"

****

It's near impossible to get her dad to calm down. They fight it out for a while, and Lydia for some insane reason stays for all the drama. The kicker is that she doesn't want to lie. She wants to tell him, wants to point the finger and then provide the DNA samples. But she doesn't. Because there is still Allison. Because there is still Scott. Because there is Isaac. And...Derek.

****

She wants to scream about it because she knows that Erica and Boyd are still down there and that Gerard might kill them. Really might. But, Stiles doesn't have that powerful moral imperative that grips Scott all the time; that occasionally self-destructive desire to protect everyone. For Stiles, it’s about consolidating her power base. Her protective urges are focused on a small group of people; keep her dad safe and healthy, keep her baby alive and well, and make sure that she, Stiles, is around to make sure that stays true.

****

Stiles escapes upstairs, citing her need to take a bath and get cleaned up. She pulls out her best pathetic little girl look (very easy in this case), and her dad caves.

****

"So..." Lydia begins while Stiles is drying her hair and trying really hard not to move her wrist too much. She’s hoping the many, many painkillers she’d taken would kick in soon. "You have, like, a thousand missed texts from Scott," Lydia picks the phone up, "And at least twenty calls."

****

"Yeah, I am sure," Stiles groans. She is too tired for this nonsense. They can wait.

****

"Also, exactly fifteen calls from a contact called 'Blue Steel'." Lydia scrunches up her face.

****

"What?" Stiles drops the hair dryer on her foot, she is so shocked. Though she has Derek's number programmed in, the assbutt has never called, ever.

****

"I am guessing that it's Derek?" Lydia says with a probing kind of tone.

****

"Derek who?" Stiles says, playing it cool. Nothing says cool, calm and collected like dropping shit everywhere and getting tangled up in the blow dryer cord.

****

"Your baby daddy," Lydia smiles evilly. Stiles stops for a second to admire how lovely evil looks on Lydia’s face.

****

"Oh, yes, that Derek. I mean there are just so many of them. I mean, it’s really a rather common name. Surprisingly common," Stiles pats at her face with a towel.

****

"Stiles," Lydia says softly. She looks up to see Lydia reading the text messages. Stiles moves around her to see them.

****

Scott: Where are you?

Scott: Stiles?

Scott: Not okay game of hide and seek can be over now?

Scott: I will bake you brownies for every period you ever have until the day I die if you answer me in the next five minutes.

Scott: Stiles, I am serious.

Scott: Jackson is dead.

Scott: Derek just destroyed half the locker room. Also Peter isn't dead. Where are you?

Scott: I buried the lead. Peter is alive! And still fucking creepy!

Scott: Okay, so Jackson is not dead. And there is goo and I need you here because you really know how to find out cool supernatural stuff. So please please call me back.

Scott: Since when do you ignore calls from Derek? Aren't you like pregnant because of him.

Scott: Stiles. I need your help. We have to save Jackson. Come to the warehouse district, where the rave was.

****

Lydia stands and grabs her bag. Stiles sits down hard, legs giving out as she reads the rest of the texts. So many of them, from other people.

****

Isaac: If you are mad at Derek and Scott you can call me and I won't tell anyone.

Isaac: Should I be worried by this Peter person?

Isaac: Just um, tell Scott when you are okay. He is freaking out a little.

Isaac: Maybe Derek first.

****

Stiles was surprised. Sure, she and Isaac talk sometimes, and they had this weird bonding time a while back. But she was surprised and a little touched at his concern. But her heart grows three sizes when she gets to the next set of messages.

****

Danny: If this is a joke I am going to hack into your computer and delete all your porn. This isn't funny. Get back here right now. There are serious things happening here, Stiles. I mean it.

****

Thing is, she and Danny has this unspoken agreement; They like each other. They don’t talk about the fact that they don’t actually hate one another, or that sometimes, when they’re done with chemistry homework, they would hang out and talk about all the geeky things he won’t admit to in public, or play all the dorky video games that would completely ruin his cool and popular street cred.

****

The last text shouldn't amuse her but it does.

****

Derek: Call me back.

Derek: Now!

****

Typical non communicative, demanding asshole. Stiles needs to get a sign that says 'use your words' and hold it up when he gets like this. He needs to sign up for “How to communicate like a decent human-ish being 101.”  Because, as God as her witness, there will be no growling at the baby, assuming she’ll even let him see the baby. She is feeling a little vindictive right now. There will be begging involved. Also, groveling. And a bit of manly tears.

****

"You coming?" Lydia asks, snapping at her

.

"Where?" Stiles asks looking around to figure out when this night turned into some kind of outing. Stiles needed a nap, and maybe a cast and a whole cake.

****

"To the warehouse district. Come on, chop chop," Lydia makes the accompanying hand motion.

****

"I vote no. Nope. Not gonna happen. I just want some fucking cake, and maybe a cast for my wrist. And a new life. Some new friends. And no hunters or werewolves or slithery monster things," Stiles says with a very firm shake of her newly washed head.

****

"Stiles," Lydia commands, brows lowering dangerously. Wow, that was almost Derek-ish in quality. Stiles applauds Lydia’s eyebrow skills silently.

.

"Look, how much of what is going on do you actually know? Hmm? How much of it is really clear? Because I am betting its less than half, if that."

****

Stiles sits back down and tries to explain. "Lydia, you don't want to get involved, trust me. Also, they rarely actually need me. So, I say we stay here, nice and safe, and I bet everything will be just fine."

****

Lydia just looks at her and Stiles almost laughs in response, but then remembers that Lydia is a boss and is not afraid to cut a bitch. Then she slumps down, and looks at Stiles pleadingly.

****

"They need us," Lydia begs, her voice small and pained. Aw, shit, those are the big guns, and Stiles is powerless against that. She still tries, though, trying to inject a measure of reason and logic in a world full of gun toting hunters, reptile monsters with poison claws, and furry, throat-ripping man beasts.

****

"Okay, so you might not accept this as fact, but they really don't. You know what happens if you go? One of us gets really hurt. They won't mean to, but it will be you or me that ends up with serious damage. Or dead. Do you want to die Lydia? Because I sure don't," Stiles snaps.

****

"Some one already is dead," Lydia barks back.

****

And Stiles has had it. She’s had it up to here, and not even Lydia is going to be enough to make this bullshit ok. "Oh yes, boo-fucking-hoo. Perfect Jackson Whittemore bites it after going on a murderous rampage. Well, excuse me for not wanting to help after getting the shit kicked out of me and ending up with a goddamned fractured wrist. And you want me to join you in charging in to get in the middle of a throwdown between superpowered monsters and dudes with big ass guns? Jesus fucking Christ, have you forgotten that I am pregnant, you selfish bitch?”

****

Stiles isn't sure where all of that came from, but she’s so angry and tired and has had fucking enough - can this night end now, please, that she isn't even that upset when Lydia runs out crying. Right at this moment, Stiles is ready to let the world burn. Fuck this bullshit buttfucking bullshittery.

****

She stays mad for maybe 20 minutes before reality sinks in; she was cruel, unfair and horrible to the one person who’d helped her out on this hellish night. She collapses onto her chair, and tries to keep herself from having a nice, hysterical crying jag.

.

Stiles has just gotten the urge to cry under control when she hears the tap at her door.

****

"Hey," her dad greets her gently, as he walks into the room. She knows he’s worried and scared for her, but she also knows this is an opening salvo to his next round of parental concern and gentle questioning. Her dad is really good at getting a sense when she is about to have a complete and total break down; he has had years of practice.

****

"Hi, Daddy," she says in a trembling voice, knowing he’ll get his cue. She only calls him that when it's bad, when she needs him the most. He sits down in the chair next to her, and places his hand on top of hers. Stiles leans her head against her father's shoulder and breathes in his familiar, comforting scent.

.

"I'm not angry with you, you know," he murmurs, breaking the silence.

****

"Lies. You totally are," Stiles retorts weakly. Her dad huffs a laugh and leans over to kiss her temple.

****

"No. Not angry. Parents get worried, or frustrated, or sad about their kids. But never truly angry. It’s some sort of terrible biological response that makes you love them too much to ever be really angry," his face scrunches up, mocking her gently.

.

"You watched that parenting special I dvr-ed didn't you?" Stiles doesn't remember the name but with this whole alien face-hugger incubation situation, she has started to record just about everything about kids and parenting she can get her hands on.

****

"Yes. Yes, I did," he admits with a laugh. "And soon, you shall have first hand knowledge."

****

"Stop reminding me," Stiles groans.

****

"No. I am going to bring it up all the time. Because I am still very very an..." Stiles cocks a sardonic eyebrow at him. "Uh, I mean, frustrated that my smart, beautiful, brilliant genius underage, teenage daughter is pregnant."

****

"You’re going to shoot the guy when I finally relent and tell you who it is, aren't you?" she grins at him, half joking, half serious. Honestly though, with her current state of mind, she wouldn’t mind if he did.

****

"Pumpkin, I was going to shoot the man that got you pregnant no matter how old you were. Frankly, I had plans to shoot all your boyfriends. A nice flesh wound, nothing serious. Good thing you’ve been single since you started to notice boys, which is why there have been no accidental gun related injuries," he looks deadly serious, which is kind of hilariously awful.

****

“I have guns hidden around the house at the ready to be pulled out and cleaned in menacing ways. I was really looking forward to meeting your dates at the door with a shotgun in one hand, my revolver in another," he continues with a smile.

****

"Dad, what the hell?" Stiles shrieks, remembering the gun safe with the many shiny, impeccably clean and maintained weapons of death and destruction.

****

"I want to be prepared!" Her dad replies with his sassiest tone. This is what people don't get - Stiles gets this kind of lip through heredity. It runs in the family, a genetic marker labeled “Sass.”

****

"So about you getting grounded and your impending hospital visit," her dad segues smoothly.

****

"What? And what?" Stiles squawks indignantly.

****

"Oh, did I forget to mention that you are now grounded for the rest of the year except for school, community service and doctor's visits? I hadn't mentioned it before, because you’ve been under a self imposed one for the last week or so," her dad tilts his head back and forth and make his 'not bad' face. He could be an internet meme, it’s just that good.

****

"That’s a thing that happened," Stiles agrees sadly.

****

"Anyway. The point is, I am a magnanimous father; I am willing to allow you a few hours of sweet freedom, should you feel the need to chase down Lydia and apologize for being such a - ahem - ‘massive bitch’."

****

"Dad!" Seriously, she’s going to have to stop recording TLC shows, because her dad watches them when he has nothing to do, and then drops gems like this. It’s cringingly embarrassing  because he thinks he’s being cool, and no. Just no.

****

"Sorry, I meant ‘horrendous bitch,” her dad smiles back angelically.

.

"Hey," Stiles is two seconds away from an epic tantrum, but she has to admit that he has a point. Several points. Ok, all the points. She sighs and chalks this up as her Dad’s win, and she should just give in like the emotionally mature woman that she is.

****

"I concede, for you are infinitely wise, Father-mine. There may have been some pregnancy and stress hormones talking, and I might have foolishly chased off the only person I am speaking to at the moment."

****

"After which, you will go to the ER and get an x-ray," he says, gracious in his victory as he hands her the insurance card. "I will be calling Melissa at the hospital to check."

****

He reaches over and grabs her coat. "You have exactly two hours to make nice with your friends, and then you can go annoy the people in the waiting room at the hospital." He shakes the coat at her impatiently, motioning for her to get a move on.

****

"You have been watching sitcoms again, haven't you?" Stiles accuses with a glare.

****

"I’ve had lots of free time this past week, and you were busy sulking. I wanted none of that, thus, the tv," he jokes, and gives her a sad smile that makes Stiles regret not talking to him more.

****

"Okay," she stands and takes the coat. Her dad turns to leave and she makes a monumental decision.. "Hey dad?"

****

He turns back and looks at her enquiringly.  "When I get back from torturing medical students, there are some things we need to talk about."

****

"Yeah?" He asks looking both skeptical and pleased.

****

"Yeah." Stiles nods. She grabs her car keys and runs after Lydia.

****

 

* * *

 

****

Peter shouldn't be as amused as he is. It's cruel. Then again so is he. But really, all the giggles.

****

Also, the new puppy is adorable, just so, so cute. And very much in puppy love with Scott. It's kind of awesome. Because if Isaac loves Scott, maybe they can get Scott to love Isaac back. Heteronormative nonsense need not apply in this pack.

****

Peter will not have his efforts go to waste. Besides Allison is not right for Scott. It will end badly. In fact that ending might be tonight.

****

"Oh yeah, Jackson is dead," Scott says after Derek is done ripping apart half of the locker room.

****

"You chose not to lead with that?" Peter wonders out loud, sometimes wishing he’d chosen more wisely when he decided to give the bite. Stiles would have made a glorious wolf, he’s certain. Instead, he bit the one with double digits IQ, an overweening sense of morality, and blindly, idiotically stubborn. Being crazy really does a number on one’s ability to make good judgement calls.

****

"Stiles is more important," Scott glares. Peter rolls his eyes, but can’t entirely fault him for his loyalty.

****

"Scott, my boy, in this case, the Kanima is more important than your best friend. However clever and wonderful she might be," Peter explains patiently. He looks around, expecting someone to back him up. Except everyone has the same, exact expression on their faces.  

****

Peter reassesses the situation and says, "I’m missing something, aren’t I?" He stares intently at Derek, who is looking well and truly crushed. Isn’t that interesting?

****

"Kinda," Isaac supplies. Peter looks at them all with exasperation; how is he supposed to make contingency plans for the pack when he doesn’t have all the information. He takes a deep, calming breath, and then inhales again, eyes widening. He smells something he thought he would never smell again - the lingering scent of a Vessel.

****

"Why does the boy's locker room smell like a Vessel?" Peter asks sharply, sure of the answer but looking for confirmation, . Isaac looks confused, Scott looks like he is about to lie and Derek looks ready to kill him again. Peter reins in his rioting emotions and continues calmly, "Oh. Well. I’ll admit I am surprised I missed that, initially," Peter gives his most charming smile. "Good thing she said no to the bite last semester. I’ll be at the house, should you wish to join me."

****

Peter strolls away. He needs to do a bit of research, refresh his memory a little, check a few important things. Firstly, read the lore on Vessels and werewolf breeding. Secondly,  find out what a Kanima can do if it 'dies' by it's own hand. Thirdly, look up some nice romantic spots around town to send Isaac and Scott to - because reasons. And finally and most importantly,  find where they sell those 'Congrats! You are having a baby' cigars and get Derek a carton. The things he does for pack, honestly. He walks off, whistling tunelessly.

****

 

* * *

 

****

"A what?" Isaac asks later while they stumble around the Hale house waiting for Peter to find his 'hidden treasures.'

****

"It's the official term for what Stiles is," Derek bites out, still reeling from the big reveal. Shit, that's what she is. Fucking goddamnit. He really could use something else to rip up and break, barehanded. He eyes, the treeline, which is starting to look appealing.

****

This interminable waiting is slowly killing Derek. He needs to move, to do something. Helping. Searching. Because she is out there, and nothing good can be happening when Stiles is on her own. Stiles is predictable, to a point, and he’s sure this disappearance is nothing of her own devising. The fact that she isn’t answering her phone is the giant Bat Signal in the sky;  the idiot  never goes anywhere without it. Where she goes, her ridiculous piece of technology is usually in her hand.

.

"How is that different than what we already knew?" Scott looks around. "She smells good to us, and she’s pregnant."

****

Derek ignores Scott, still feeling like an idiot for not putting the rest together, sooner. He should have known, the signs were all there. Sure, she smelled great, but it was so much more than that. Supernatural creatures are drawn to her scent of home and stability, which explains why she was so good at helping Scott stay in control.

****

Stiles was a fucking Vessel. The holy fucking grail for supernatural creatures, and none of them had realized. He knows that he is more at fault that anyone, since he is a born wolf and knows some of the lore.  But a large part of him is deeply grateful that the knowledge is known to so few; the less people that know her true value, the better.  She’d be safer. Their child would be safer.

****

Scott looks down at his phone and taps out another text message. "She still isn't responding to texts." Both of the younger wolves are a hairs breadth away from whimpering.

****

Scott's phone starts to ring, and Isaac perks up but Derek knows better. Stiles custom changes the ringtone for her number on every phone she gets her sticky hands on. She’d downloaded a stupid love song on her phone, which initially drove him nuts (and how she was able to lock that down, he still can’t figure out.) Now, it is the only thing he wants to hear. What is ringing is Scott's default setting, so no, it’s not Stiles.

****

Derek feels trapped, caged and furiously angry. He followed the rules. He stayed away from her. He stayed out of sight and made the pack do the same. If she wasn't part of the pack, if she wasn't visibly allied with them, then she should have been safe. Allison still adheres to the code; she won’t hurt one of her friends, as long as said friend had little to do with werewolves.

****

Scott swears he hasn’t told Allison, and by extension, the Argents about the pregnancy. Yet, the Argents had gone after her, he knows it deep in his bones. Stiles is an easy target for people looking to hurt him, or looking to hurt Scott. Peter had done it once. Others might in the future. It made his blood boil, even as he worked to figure out how to make sure that Stiles was safe from all threats. But despite all the precautions they have all taken, Stiles has been taken. This is no code. They should know better than to target an innocent.

****

"What do you mean ‘goo coming out of his fingers’?" Scott shouts into the phone, and Derek is pulled reluctantly back to the present. Peter enters into the room, and looking concerned. "Mom, if he is twitching, don't touch him. We’ll be there soon."

****

Scot looks at the assembled group with panic in his eyes. "So,um, Jackson is not as dead as originally thought ,and is apparently twitching and covered in some good that is leaking from his fingers." He stops, chewing on his lip hard.. "We should like go and deal with this? Yes?"

****

Peter, because he is a contrary bastard, asks "I am confused. Is Stiles the priority or the Kanima?" He looks between Derek and Scott expectantly.

.

Derek snaps out, "Scott, go check on Jackson and your mother. Isaac go with him," the younger boy nods and drags Scott out of the house. "Uncle, can you track Stiles’ cell phone and look up information about the Kanima at the same time?"

"Easily," Peter taps a few keys. "Any idea what her username and password are?" Derek digs into his pocket and pulls out the paper with the information.

****

User: thegreatwizardstiles

password: youshallnotpass

****

Peter stares at it for a minute. Then looks at Derek. Then back at the paper. Then, again at Derek.

****

"Well, at least they aren't both Derek. I would respect her less," Peter enters in the information and a screen pops up. "Well, that's one mystery down, she’s at her house."

****

"What?" Derek asked, leaning over to read the screen.

****

"Tracking shows she has been there for about thirty minutes but before that she was...." Peter trails off and quickly slams down the screen before Derek could see. Too late, unfortunately. "Oh, don't make that face, nephew. You know I was all for killing every single one of them, but oh no, someone thought they should live."

****

"Shut up," Derek grits out, teeth clenched in fury. The Argents. Again, the Argents.

****

He is going to do something about this.

****

 

* * *

 

****

"Go away, Stiles!" Lydia screams into the bluetooth enabled dashboard of her car, foot pressing down hard on the gas.

****

"Jesus, Lydia! Slow the fuck down!" Stiles shouts into her phone, which is on speaker and sitting precariously on her lap. "Just come back! I promise to be nice!"

****

Lydia responds by stomping on the gas again and taking a corner quickly. Stiles hopes that her poor, sweet, four wheeled darling can keep up. She takes the turn, and prays her Jeep doesn’t flip over, because driving a stick shift with only one fully functioning hand is no fucking easy task. "I'm pregnant! Come back! This isn't fair! I’m trying to apologize!"

****

"And I am trying to help your hetero-live partner save Jackson!" Lydia screeches back. Stiles winces as her phone’s speaker shrills out, trying to keep up with Lydia’s near operatic tones.

****

"These two things are not mutually exclusive - I'll help! I’m great with werewolves and hunters! I can run away like a champ!" Stiles attempts rationale and fails miserably.

****

In response, Lydia slams on her brakes and puts the car in park. She gets out of the car, just in time for Stiles to almost run her over. Lydia, because she is the coolest goddess to ever walk the earth, isn’t even phased by her near death. The girl just rolls her eyes and flings her hair back over her shoulder. Stiles sighs, falling a little bit in love.

****

"Get in if you want to live!" Stiles smirks, pushing the passenger door open, pleased with yet another perfectly delivered, deeply appropriate movie reference. Lydia climbs into the car, smacks Stiles hard on her shoulder, and stabs a finger in her face. Stiles is not proud to admit she flinches back like the wimp she is when Lydia is involved.

****

"I am still pissed," Lydia announces, and flounces back into her seat. Stiles shrugs, and shifts into first.

****

"Yeah, well, I haven't stopped being a bitch during these  last thirty minutes, fair warning. So, please, continue with the seething. We’ve got some stupid boys to save."

****  
  



	7. Dibs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is BAMF and Derek is extremely aroused by this. Dibs are called.

Derek has just finally convinced himself that it makes more sense to kill Jackson than to save him when his idiot girl literally crashes their admittedly lame and unnecessarily bloody party. The Jeep actually tears a hole through the wall and comes to a halt with an ear piercing shriek of protest from the brakes.

****

Stiles nearly hits him with her vehicle, and he’s mildly offended that she doesn’t even have the grace to blink when he growls at her through the windshield. Lydia jumps out and is marching towards him before Stiles even has her seat belt unbuckled. Stiles flails as she tries to exit her vehicle, and barely makes it out of the Jeep in one piece.

****

She looks like shit, Derek notices, cataloging the bruises on her face, how she keeps an arm cradled against herself, how she holds herself stiffly. She reeks of pain, tears and - he notices with a surge of jealousy - of Lydia’s perfume. She’s wearing a shirt three sizes too big which smells more like her dad than her. Derek curses the poor timing and the life and death situation they were all in, because he really needs to have a moment with her. There are things that need to be cleared up, and important stuff to talk about. He realizes now that everything else - his newly risen-from-the-dead uncle, his personal issues, the pack - can wait until they, Stiles, Derek and Child, are squared away.

****

“The gang’s all here!” Stiles says with a forced cheer. Derek wants to say something like ‘where the hell have you been?’ or maybe even just hug her, but Isaac beats him to it. His beta nearly bowls her over with his enthusiasm, and pushes his face against her neck. Derek hears the sigh that escapes Isaac’s lips once he’s surrounded by her scent again, and Stiles smiles in response, uninjured arm hugging him back.

****

And Derek is staggered by the realization that he should have been doing that these past few days, should have been there as she dealt with the news of her pregnancy. But, hindsight is such a bitch. He had made the wrong call in cutting her out of the pack’s orbit in the false hope that this would save her; and - to be truly honest - so that he could protect himself. He sees now that he will never be free of Stiles. And that fact isn’t as terrifying as he’d originally feared.

****

“Aww, puppy, it’s cool. I promise, treats after we do tricks,” Stiles pats Isaac’s head like he’s an actual dog, and Derek can practically see Isaac wiggling with delight. Isaac finally pulls away, still holding Stiles by the shoulders, and the two share a small smile. They have gotten close without his notice, and Derek chalks up yet another failure in his growing tally of poor leadership. Now that he knows what Stiles really is, what she really means to the pack, this closeness makes more sense.

****

“I am not a dog,” Isaac pouts and punches Stiles in the arm playfully. Which is when Stiles folds over with a scream of bloody murder. He sees Scott wince, and Isaac’s ears have got to be ringing.

****

“Holy fucking duck on stick!” She shouts and rocks back and forth, body curving protectively around her arm and midsection. “Stop hitting the girl with the broken wrist!”

****

Her shout throws everyone into momentary confusion. Lydia stops in her steady march towards Jackson, and backtracks towards her friend. Isaac takes a step away from Stiles, hands hovering indecisively over her as she pants for breath.

****

Derek can feel the pain rocket up her arm as though it was his own. His eyes focus on the minute swelling near her wrist, practically hearing the way the blood is rushing and pooling into a bruise under her skin. Someone is going to pay, preferably in with as much pain and agony as he can inflict. The destruction in the locker room will seem like child’s play when he’s finished. He’s halfway across the room, moving towards Stiles before he notices that something is off. The only person who hasn’t moved at all since Stiles let out that horrifying noise, is Chris.

****

A simultaneous chorus of “What?!” echoes through the space as the rest of the group stares at Stiles. Derek can feel himself losing control, his eyes bleeding into the deep, angry red of an infuriated Alpha. He growls. Stiles rolls her eyes at the rhetorical question, but Derek can see that a cold sweat has broken out across her face.

****

All eyes turn to Chris Argent, who suddenly looks a little green. His lack of movement has caught the predatory instincts of all the wolves, and Derek, yet again, doubts how much of an ally this man can be. Sure, Chris might be helping them with the Kanima, but Derek remembers where Stiles was earlier that night.  Perhaps Peter was right after all, and killing every single Argent is the right solution. They had taken everything from him before, and now they are trying to take her as well. Dereks decides that this time, they don’t get to come out alive. This time, he is going to finish the job and have his vengeance.

****

“We are going to have a very long and serious talk after this,” Stiles grits out in a truly terrible Russian accent. Derek almost grins, remembering that line from her favorite show. It’s a hilarious coincidence that the line was said by an older man to a young woman who wanted to have a baby with him, after finishing a contract hit. Derek can work with that theme; murder and then a talk. A hospital visit is definitely going to be mixed in there at some point.

****

“I didn’t...” Chris starts to protest, but Stiles wasn’t done with venting at the top of her lungs.

******  
  
**

“No, of course you didn’t! You giant bag of dildos and your stupid, insufferable fucking family,” Stiles hisses while cradling her arm. Lydia moves so that she was rubbing Stiles’ back but made no other move to try and calm Stiles down. “As far as I can tell, you and your bastard hunter pals have been way more destructive than any of the so-called monsters. And, tell me, what kind of sick fuck of a son lets their batshit crazycakes father kidnap the pregnant daughter of the local sheriff, who then proceeds to beat her up as an object lesson, and then goes about his fucking day after dumping her out in the cold?” Stiles was shouting. Chris Argent looked poleaxed, frozen with dismay and horror.

****

“Well, that cat is out of the bag,” Lydia mutters acidly.

****

“Pregnant?” echoes a gruff voice from around the side of Chris’ SUV. Derek feels the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, and he can feel Isaac shift form. Scott growls, a chilling crescendo of fury that scrapes through his throat. Derek feels the welcome pain in his arms as his claws extend in preparation for mayhem.

****

Gerard makes his appearance, strolling casually around the SUV. “Well, now I really have to kill you,” Gerard grins happily, and Derek and the pack throw themselves at the enemy.

****

Later, he will be rather thankful that Lydia and Stiles had the good sense to stay out of the way. Though he does notice that Stiles somehow has acquired a baseball bat, and was holding it with a confident hand. Then Jackson, or rather, the Kanima joins the fight and that’s when things get confusing and really ugly, fast.

****

“Isaac!” Stiles shouts at one point, and Derek turns his head just in time to see Allison shoot him with her crossbow. Isaac goes down, hard. Chris Argent is shooting at the Kanima, which is about as useful as shooting at the wind. Derek doesn’t watch Stiles, because splitting his attention any further would only put himself, and everyone else in the pack, in danger.

****

But despite his best efforts, Derek’s hearing is tuned to Stiles’ racing heartbeat - a sound that he would recognize anywhere, and isn’t that a surprise - and, more faintly, the smaller beat that echoes hers. It’s to the sound of that second heartbeat that makes him tear into the Kanima, only to lose sight of that slithering, reptilian form; then the tables take an odd turn that he doesn’t expect.

****

Derek takes a slash to the stomach and the poison acts immediately. He collapses, immobile and so easy a target. Isaac gets up to defend him, only to face Allison as she makes another appearance. Derek watches helplessly, unable to look away as Allison toys with Isaac, watching the distant pleasure that flickers over that lovely, pale face. Until now, he had been willing to overlook Allison’s family ties, because Scott loved her with all his loyal heart. But this woman is not that sweet, equally love struck girl. With every graceful move, every painful slice of a sharp blade, Allison proves herself to be as much an Argent as her mother and aunt. Just like them, she leaves a trail of blood behind her. And exactly like Kate, she is pitiless as she moves in for the kill.

****

“Scott!” Derek hears Stiles cry out. Derek tries again to move, but the poison is still coursing through his limbs, but he stills in shock, because now, the Kanima is holding Allison. Gerard smiles, and Jesus, nothing makes a single ounce of sense.

****

“Not yet, sweetheart.” Gerard croons, as the Kanima slowly chokes his granddaughter into submission.

****

“What are you doing?” Allison gasps out, and boy, Derek would very much like an answer to that question. But he’s suddenly distracted from the second hand parricide in progress, because his ears suddenly registers something extraordinary. There are two steady heart beats in the room, and only one of them belongs to Gerard.

****

“He’s doing what he came here to do,” Scott answers her, his voice, heart, and body steady as a rock.

****

“What is he talking about?” Allison claws at the grip on her neck as she implores her grandfather.

****

“It was that night outside the hospital, when I threatened your mother,” Gerard says, speaking to Scott. “I knew I saw something in your eyes. You could smell it, couldn’t you?” Gerard smiles, madness flickering over his face.

****

Derek would laugh out loud, if he could. How humbling for the great enemy of wolves to be betrayed by his own body.

****

“He’s dying,” Isaac gasps out wetly, blood flecking at the corner of his mouth as his hands clutch at the gaping cut on his abdomen.

****

“I am,” Gerard acknowledges.

****

Derek thinks that Stiles has been rubbing off on him, because he has a random, deeply crazy thought that a camera would be so good to have right now. Something to capture this moment of poetic justice.

****

Gerard continues,  “I have been for a while now. Unfortunately, science doesn’t have a cure for cancer yet,” Gerard turns and looks right at Derek with an unhinged smile. “But the supernatural does.”

****

Allison gasps as the Kanima increases it’s hold on her and, frankly, Derek hopes it would do the job faster, so he can be done with this particular dog and pony show.

****

“You monster!” Chris snaps. And Derek loses what little respect he has for the hunter; his daughter is being slowly killed in front of his eyes, and he is still unwilling, unable, or just outright fears his own father to do anything more than throw out a cliche or two.

****

“Not yet,” Gerard retorts with a grin..

****

“What are you doing?” Allison struggles to say, as though it wasn’t perfectly obvious.

****

Derek mentally throws his hands up in the air, and that deeply sarcastic inner voice in his head that sounds exactly like Stiles says, Really? What does she think her grandfather is doing? And what does Scott see in her, because obviously, it’s not really her amazing mental powers? The sex had better be fucking rocking, because this really is a lot of pain for one stupid highschool romance. Derek thinks his brain must be shutting down, because he doesn’t have it in him to shut up the Stiles voice echoing in his skull. What.the.everloving.fuck.

****

“You’ll kill her too?” Chris sputters, still standing ineffectually by the side. Stiles catches Derek’s eyes and they roll in unison. Bitch, please. Once a psychopath, always a psycopath.

****

“When it comes to survival, I’d kill my own son!” Gerard shouts in mad fury.  And Derek thinks that his physical form might occasionally look monstrous, but when he thinks of the small person growing in Stiles, and how he would literally give his life right now to protect them forever, he would love to put out a survey asking, who’s the monster here?

****

“Scott,” Gerard snaps out, and Derek is startled at the commanding tone. To his surprise and slowly growing dismay, Derek hears footsteps walking towards him. Then Scott is there, looking down at him with a blank look before he pulls Derek upright with little effort.

****

Scott drags Derek forward, stabbing his thumb into the back of Derek’s neck. Derek spares a thought for Stiles, and pushes down the hurt at Scott’s betrayal.  He closes his eyes, because can’t bear to see the look on Stiles’ face.

****

Just when Derek is pretty damn sure that this is the end, Gerard goes down with a heavy thunk. His angle is all wrong to have seen what had happened, but the crunch had the distinctive sound of a pistol whipping hard against a hard skull.  Scott drops Derek and, honestly, by the end of this night, if Derek actually survives, he and this concrete floor will have had more one-on-one action than he’s had all week.

****

“How about I speed up that whole dying process for you?” Stiles snarls, holding Chris Argent’s discarded gun. For the love of all that’s holy, where did she get the gun? And what the fuck does she think she is doing?

****

“Stiles!” Scott shouts. “Stop! I have this under control!” Derek feels the poison ebbing from his body, and is able to use his arms to to roll over. But the paralytic is still slowing him down, so squeezes the cuts until the vile goo slips out in a congealed glob of blood.

****

“No, no, you don’t.” Stiles snarks back, waving a gun around. Well, that’s definitely not the proper way to handle a gun, what will the Sheriff say? He must have said that aloud because she responds, “I have the safety on, Mr. Alpha Werewolf-sir. I wasn’t raised in a house full of guns without learning how to do that, ok?”  

****

Derek sees that Gerard is stirring but can’t seem to form any more words, because it hits him again. Scott betrayed them. It stings worse than the cuts all over his body, currently knitting themselves closed. He despairingly thought their issues were finally resolved; he thought that they’d built trust because they were going to work together for Stiles’s sake.

****

And like Stiles had warned him, his angsty, time-inappropriate self flagellating gets him into trouble yet again. The old man must have more life in him than any of them had expected, because he recovers, jumps up and forces Derek’s mouth open enough to shove his arm in between Derek’s fangs. His teeth bite down against his will as Gerard forces his mouth closed, and vomit boils up his throat when Gerard’s blood fills his mouth.

****

Gerard pulls away, or rather, is yanked away by the hair and Stiles cocks her arm back and hits him with the gun again. But this time, she misses Gerard’s temple and breaks his nose, instead.

****

“Oh well, that won’t matter for long,” Gerard laughs wetly as he stares with avid greed at the marks on his arm.

****

The foul taste of Gerard’s blood in Derek’s mouth is all wrong. It tastes like ash and death, and it burns his tongue. He turns his head to spit out the taste, and remembers where he’s smelt this scent before. It was at the rave. And Derek thinks - hope slowly rising through his body, fighting off the last of the poison - that maybe Scott actually did have it all under control.

****

“About that...” Scott says, with a smile on his face. And Derek’s inner voice breathes ‘oh, shit,’ because it is never a good thing when Scott smiles like that. Only stupid things happen when that smile appears. Derek makes an executive decision that he needs to never associate with Scott again. Pack needs or not, this boy was going to be the death of him.

****

Gerard was leaking black ooze from every orifice. It dribbled out of his eyes and mouth and rain dark, inky rivers down from his ears.

****

“Mountain ash!” Gerard screams, proving that shrieking out cliches runs in the Argent family, along with insanity and predilection for bloody murder. Gerard then projectile vomits a truly disgusting amount of mountain ash as his body fights the change.

****

Stiles, deeply inappropriate, socially awkward Stiles, laughs; a hysterical giggle bursting unbidden from her mouth. Lydia responds predictably and smacks Stiles upside the head, like a mother scolding her child. Derek decides that Stiles is, as always, absolutely right; Lydia is the fucking boss, and she is to be feared and respected.

****

“Jackson, put her down!” Lydia shouts at the Kanima, who apparently does understand that Lydia will always be Queen Bitch no matter what form he’s in.  Jackson drops Allison, who collapses on the ground, mercifully unconscious. Derek doesn’t think he could take another cliche from an Argent. Enough is enough.

****

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Derek demands, as he staggers upright. Scott could have said something to him, to someone; at the very least, he should have told Stiles.

****

“You might be an Alpha, but you’re not mine,” Scott shakes his head, pompous and self-righteous.

****

“Oh, for the love of god, shut your fool mouth, Scotty!” Stiles groans and slaps Scott with her good hand, the gun having been tucked down the front of her pants.  

****

Gerard is attempting to crawl off like the worm he is, and Derek is not surprised to see Stiles stalking over to the bastard. “This cocksucker and I have unfinished business,” Stiles pulls a dagger out of her sweatshirt. Derek has a half-despairing, half-amused thought that he needs to start keeping better track of Stiles when they are fighting monsters because she’ll always be well armed, what with this new habit of picking up unattended weaponry.

****

Stiles crouches down by the struggling Gerard, and for a moment, she reminds him of Peter when he was feral and out of his mind. There is a burning, predatory light in her eyes that Derek finds...intriguing. Jesus, social inappropriateness is catching.

****

Gerard turns to face her, and Stiles digs the sharp knife deep  into his wounded arm.

****

“Now you listen to me, you fucked up son of a bitch,” she says very quietly, seriously. The ears of every werewolf in the room pricks up with interest as they all listen in shamelessly.  “You are done. You got me? It’s all over. You are going to go away and never ever come back. If you even consider coming back here, I will personally end you in the most painful way you can imagine.”

****

Gerard coughs up more goo and grimaces. Stiles rolls onto the balls of her feet and stands up. Gerard stares up at her with hate in his eyes, then  turns from her to glare at Jackson, who is still in his lizard form.

****

“Kill them!” Gerard screams. “Kill them-” his crazed shriek ends in a wet gurgle.

****

It had happened so fast that Derek’s mind didn’t completely register what he had seen. One moment, Gerard had been there on the ground with Stiles standing over him. The next moment, she was leaning down, the dagger catching the light with a deadly gleam. Gerard’s blood jets out into, spraying Stiles as he clutched at this wide open throat.

****

A horrible silence filled the room, only broken by the sound of liquid dripping onto the ground.

****

Stiles stood there quietly, holding her dagger, looking like a modern day, blood-drenched Boudica, fresh from battle. Red and black  spilled over her fingers, stained her clothing, decorated her skin like a particularly gruesome tattoo.

****

And Derek? He had never been more in love with Stiles than in that moment. It was all he could do not to drop to his knees, beg her to take him back, and proclaim himself her eternal slave. He reined himself in with difficulty, because someone has to at least pretend to be well socialized. And it’s never going to be Stiles, that’s for damn sure.

****

“Anybody got a problem with that?” Stiles snarls, teeth so white against all that red. Chris Argent, looking cowed,  shakes his head no. “I didn’t think so.”

****

Then Stiles closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. It was an amazing thing to watch, because one moment and the next, she goes from a goddamned warrior goddess to being calm, collected, and infinitely more dangerous than Gerard had ever been. Derek holds back a pathetically needy whimper.

****

“Lydia, please deal with Jackson,” Stiles says, her eerily calm eyes looking almost black in the dim light. Lydia just nods meekly.

****

Peter comes out from hiding, then moves towards Jackson, looking determined and pleased with himself.  Stiles glances at him and snaps out, “Wesker wannabe, kindly remove Gerard’s head from his person.” Peter pauses and looks between Stiles and Jackson like he can’t make up his mind.

****

“But-” Peter begins.

****

“Did I stutter?” Stiles points her finger at the cooling body on the ground.. “Fucking now!” Peter jumps in surprise, and looks equally terrified and thrilled as he does as she commands.

****

Stiles stomps over to where Lydia has coaxed Jackson back to human, albeit naked, shape. Stiles walks up to Jackson and pokes him in the chest with the bloody dagger. “Time to stop being a lizard,” she commands.

****

Derek didn’t think it would work, had no idea what she was attempting but it did something. A long shudder runs through Jackson, and without a sound, he collapses, heart stopping instantly. Lydia lunges forward to grab him, but Stiles holds her back.

****

“Wait for it,” Stiles says, so sure and certain that Derek can’t even be surprised when Jackson suddenly takes a deep breath, his now werewolf blue eyes wide open and jerks up with a howl. “Better.” Stiles turns and lets Lydia and Jackson hug it out.

****

“Isaac, take Scott’s shirt,”  Isaac looks stunned, but Derek just nods his head at him. No one in their right mind had any business going against Stiles at the moment.

****

“Hey!” Scott protests, and Derek stands by his original statement.

****

“Isaac is coming with me to the hospital, and I can’t have both of us covered in blood now can I? I am going to need his shirt to wipe everyone down with, and Isaac needs to cover himself up. No need to shock the public with underage nudity.”

****

Stiles continues, “Scotty, you have the delightful task of disposing of this filth,” she points to Gerard, “Then you’re going to pick up the underage teens he’s been keeping locked up in your girlfriend’s basement.

****

Speaking of filth,” she pivots on her heel to stare down Chris who was comforting a now conscious and apparently grief stricken, guilt-ridden Allison. “You are going to call home, and make sure your Hunter pals will untie Erica and Boyd, and let them go unharmed. And then, you are going to leave.”

****

“We will go,” Chris complies.

****

“Oh no, I mean really leave. As in, leave Beacon Hills.” Allison and Chris look at her in confusion. “Have a developed a stutter? Perhaps you’ve developed a sudden case of deafness, or brain damage? I don’t know how much clearer I need to be when I say you and your family and your hunters are leaving. Tonight.  I have a bag of evidence that will prove that your family was the one that did this,” and she motions to her bruises and broken wrist, “To me. And getting the x-rays will be just the icing on the cake. I also made sure to get some of  Erica’s and Boyd’s blood on my clothes. Torturing three innocent teenagers, one of them the Sheriff’s daughter? You are so fucked.”

****

Stiles walks towards them with the stately pace of someone who’d just won at everything. “If any of you ever come back, and make trouble, I will turn it in. And with the extra bag of evidence I have from the lovely Kate, I have enough to bury your family forever. Spread the word, Argent, hunters at not welcome to my town, code or no.”

****

Allison hiccups and looks broken, but stays silent. Chris’ face could have been carved from stone.

****

“You can go now,” Stiles waves them off with a dismissive flick of her fingers. She doesn’t turn her back on them, but watches as they stumble to the black SUV and drive away into the night.

****

“You didn’t have to do that,” Scott says lamely, looking from the disappearing tail-lights back to his best friend.

****

“Yeah, I did, Scott,” Stiles replies, shaking her head. And suddenly that unshakeable woman is gone, and it’s just Stiles again; dirty, tired, bruised and so young. “So,” she smiles weakly, but her eyes sparkle with that familiar energy. “Who wants to drive the Jeep to the hospital?”

****

“Dibs!” Peter shouts from the corner of the warehouse, despite being covered in blood and mountain ash goo.

****

Seriously, Derek thinks, so. fucking. gone.

 

* * *

 

I am sorry this has been gone for so long.

****

[Come harass me on tumblr.](http://alyseofwonderland.tumblr.com/) I am going to try to post a new chapter of one of my stories every week now. so on rotation this should start being updated closer to once a month or so. *cross fingers*

****

**H BETA NOTES: Ok, you guys know this chapter was awesome. E, this twist was the fucking SHIT and I want to love you forever. Let me cradle you to my beta-tacular bosom and murmur sweet nothings into your ear.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have wrote more. but i was too amused not to end it there. there was a beta. i got bored and posted it anyway. hahaha. i am a horrible author. 
> 
> Thank Allyarra and Zimothy for this. Both of them have beaten me over the head for never finishing things. repeatedly.
> 
> EDITED 4/22/2013


	8. Bandages Required

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac would very much like to be excused. Also Peter gets weird....er.

Stiles can only imagine how they look when they limp into the emergency room. The nurse at the desk has the most hilariously freaked out look on her face when she gets a look at them, and honestly, Stiles cannot blame her a bit. She looks at herself, at Isaac, then at Peter and decides they look like Carrie after prom night, with a dash of Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and also, a heaping serving of the grossest episode of Dirty Jobs on TLC.

****

It’s mostly deserted in the waiting room, and Stiles is grateful because they’d make less of a freakshow spectacle. But it’s also pretty disconcerting, because the lack of people makes the atmosphere less easy to ignore. Seriously, it’s the most unwelcoming and most unattractive place to wait: the chairs were horrible puke green colors and smelled about the same. Also, this lighting is so unflattering - even Isaac looks terrible under the lights, and who knew that was even possible? Peter smirks at her, and with the awful overhead florescent bulbs, he looks like the undead. Huh, Stiles thinks, nevermind.

****

Her wandering thoughts are interrupted by the nurse, who hands her a clipboard with about a thousand question on it.

****

“I think she remembers me,” Peter mutters as he sneaks narrow-eyed glances at the poor woman. The nurse accidentally meets Peter’s eyes, and flinches when Peter gives her a grin showing every tooth in his mouth.  Stiles rolls her eyes, kicks Peter’s shin as hard as possible, then makes Isaac hold the clipboard still as she fills out her medical information.

****

“Peter, why are you here? If you don’t behave, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave. Ma’am, I’m sorry about his bad manners, he has the false impression that he’s amusing,” Stiles says distractedly, as she crosses and checks off the gajillion boxes with tiny print squeezed onto this sheet of paper.  But, the truth is, a large part of her is interested to hear what Peter has to say, because there has to be a reason why he decided to tag along on this happy little trip.  

****

Taking Isaac with her made sense, because 1) who the hell would ever be suspicious of that adorably angelic face and head full of curls? 2) he knew a thing or two about lying where injuries came from, and 3) she’s got plans for him involving her dad, a bit of emotional manipulation, and some creative reinterpretation of the facts.  Ok, the third point sounds a little dirty and wrong even to herself, but she’s too tired to rephrase.

****

“I wanted to spend time with my new favorite person,” Peter answers, looking at her with exaggeratedly wide eyes.  She gives him a hard stare, and his face relaxes into something much more sincere; but since this is Peter, even that expression makes him look 75% unhinged and liable to chew on raw human flesh. But, she’s sure that he is actually telling the truth, and Stiles is not ashamed to say that being the object of Peter’s affections makes her want to bathe in ammonia and scrub her skin off.

****

She finishes filling out the form in silence, barely reading before signing with a flourish, attaches her insurance card and hands the clipboard to the nurse. The nurse accepts with alacrity, makes a fumbling excuse about photocopying or calling the insurance company or running off to Alaska or something. She scurries off, leaving the three of them alone by the front desk..

****

Stiles leans back, careful not to jostle her now insistently throbbing arm. She looks at Peter thoughtfully and says with a smidge of satisfaction, “I set you on fire a few months back,” then waits for the imminent explosion.

****

It doesn’t come.

****

“I’m over it,” Peter responds with a shrug, and looks at his nails with the air of a man who finds the dirt under his fingers to be deeply fascinating.

****

“The father of my baby cut your throat,” Stiles continues, still eyeing Peter carefully.

****

“We all make mistakes,” Peter replies, his tone magnanimous as he dusts off his jacket with his hands.

****

Stiles glances at Isaac to see what he thinks; she’s not surprised he looks just as worried and suspicious as she feels.

****

“You kidnapped me, ruined my car keys and slammed my head into my trunk.” Stiles continues to eye Peter with a mix of speculation and calculation.

****

There is a silence, and Stiles thinks that maybe she’d pushed a little too hard, when Peter suddenly grins. She’s startled, because the look on his face is honest-to-god fond, and all of it is aimed right at her. She is surprised to find that she regrets she’d never met him before the fire, before he became this twisted, broken person, because he must have been awesome.  “I am willing to buy an expensive stroller and crib as an apology.”  Unspoken is the addendum to the apology: he wants to stay. In Beacon Hills.

****

Huh. She’d like to rephrase her previous statement: Peter is still crazy but is also slightly awesome, because shit, dudes, baby stuff is expensive. She’s not above accepting bribes in exchange for minute helpings of her affection. She reminds herself to send him the link to her Amazon wish list, because nobody can say that she’s not a helpful kind of girl.

****

“I would take the deal,” Isaac interjects in the silence, reading the subtext as clearly as Stiles had.  He’d been following the conversation avidly, swinging his head back and forth as Stiles and Peter lobbed conversational grenades at each other. It’s better than Wimbledon, and it’s always really fun to watch Stiles connive.

****

“On the condition that Peter is not allowed to plot to kill any member of the pack,” Stiles agrees, and holds up a finger to halt Peter when he opens his mouth. “And, I get to define who is and is not in the pack. So, you can’t be sneaky and claim they aren’t scent marked or some shit like that. We clear?”

****

“I think I might throw in a car seat,” Peter agrees, looking pleased as punch.

****

“They’re ready for you,” the nurse calls out and she ushers their group back to an exam room.

 

* * *

 

****

“The good news is that your nose isn’t broken.  The bad news is that there isn’t much to do for the swelling and the black eye, except ice it on and off for the next several days,” the doctor says, with a sigh. “But we need to get your cheekbone and wrist x-rayed to look for breaks, fractures or bone chips.”

****

“Yeah, about that,” Stiles says, fidgeting. The doctor looks down at the chart. Stiles has never met this doctor before, she’s more familiar with the nurses, what with Mrs. McCall and everything. She continues,“My chart should, um, I know I put it on there.”

****

“Oh, sorry. Yes. Pregnant,” the doctor apologizes after finding the annotation. “That shouldn’t affect the baby.” He smiles and looks up, glancing between Isaac and Peter. “Which one of you is the father?”

****

Stiles had been expecting that, and looks at the two wolves with a truly evil grin. She’s not disappointed, because Isaac looks like he’s torn between passing out, curling up into a fetal ball, or just plain old running out the door. He settles for taking a step back, then another, until he’s practically moonwalking.  He hits the wall, and looks about this close to busting through it like Kool Aid Man, but in reverse. She looks at Peter, who is nearly purple in the face, unable to breathe because he’s giggling so hard.

****

“Yeah, no,” Stiles says.

****

“Alright, then.” The doctor makes his escape, glad to leave the circus.

****

“Why am I here?” Isaac asks plaintively, looking at Stiles like she’s the meanest, ever.

****

“Because I am taking back the power,” Stiles explains, holding up her clenched fist as though to emphasize...something.

****

“What power?” Isaac peers confusedly at her, looking like a particularly puzzled corgi who’d been told ‘No. No pooping on the couch. Bad dog!’ but hears only “blh. blh aljswoeiflsj lsjfd. afwoei dog!”

****

“Derek’s power,” Peter supplies, scooching a little closer to Stiles to peer at her wrist.

****

“See, why’d you have to take that perfectly awesome opening?” Stiles complains, shaking her head. “I was going to say “My Magical Vagina!” and get all millitant feminist up in this joint. Stop stealing my cues, Peter.”

****

“...Right,” Isaac says in the tone of the only sane person humoring a room of crazy people. “I think it’s coffee time, so I’m gonna go do that. Get coffee,” Isaac says, stares at Peter, shoots an indecipherable look at Stiles, and then turns and makes like a tree.

****

She sits quietly for a second, trying to parse out the meaning of that look, then gives up and asks, “Peter. What did you do? Have you been killing and/or threatening to kill things again?”  He gives her the ‘Who, me?’ face. It’s very good, two thumbs up.

****

“I don’t know why you’d think I’ve done something. I’m innocent here. You’re the one that committed homicide in front of him.” Peter smiles, all charm and smarm.

****

“Peter,” Stiles tries her best mom voice.

****

“It’s nothing huge. You’d just reminded him of something. As in, he might have heard that you have magic powers,” Peter answers nonchalantly.

****

Stiles is floored. “What? I have magic powers? Do I have magic powers?” How is it possible - with the night that they’ve had - that she could still be surprised about anything?

****

“...In a way.” Peter doesn’t seem particularly interested in continuing the conversation, instead poking around the exam room and stealing some tongue depressors. Why, she has no idea.

****

Stiles gives up for the moment. They’ll just have to have that discussion later, when she’s not running on fumes. She’s hit her proverbial wall, and she seriously can’t deal with any more surprises.

****

 

* * *

 

****

Speaking of surprises, Isaac would like to state for the record that he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on, but...he kind of likes it.

****

How they went from getting Stiles checked out at the emergency room to bantering with Derek’s resurrected, homicidal, crazy uncle...to this, he has no idea.

****

‘This’ being the new and current state of his living arrangements. He’s gone from homeless orphan squatting in unsavory places, to living with Stiles and her Dad.

****

After they’d left the hospital, Peter drove the Jeep to Stiles’ house, then had gone off to do whatever he does when he’s not tormenting Derek or smiling creepily at anyone who looks at him. Isaac dealt with getting Stiles medicated, cleaned up (he hovered by the closed bathroom door to make sure Stiles doesn’t slip and give herself a concussion), changed (he saw the full spectrum of bruises and cuts on her body),  and in bed to sleep.  She was out in less than a minute.

****

He took his turn in the bath and was glad again for the superpowered healing. There was no sign of the cut on his stomach, though he did give a shudder when he remembered the look on Allison’s face when she stood over him with a dripping dagger.  Then he found clothing that would fit, and fell gratefully asleep on the floor next to her bed, curled up on an extra pillow he’d liberated from Stiles’ bed.

****

Isaac woke up when he heard the Sheriff come home and check in on Stiles. He sat up and stared at the Sheriff apprehensively, not conscious of how young, tired, and vulnerable he seemed. So, he was surprised when the Sheriff just whispered, “There’s a sleeping bag in the closet, and some pillows and extra blankets. Good night, son,” before closing the bedroom door gently.

****

He was awoken the following morning by the smell of eggs and coffee, and the sound of Stiles and her father having an argument. He cocked an ear to listen in, then scrambled out of the sheets tangled around his feet to run downstairs when he heard Stiles say, “Werewolves, Dad. And I can prove it. Isaac, get down here!”

****

And it’s all a blur after that. There had been a big discussion between Stiles and the Sheriff- held at the top of their lungs with some truly epic arm waving (Isaac sees the resemblance, now), about werewolves where Isaac had been forced by Stiles to change several times so her dad could get used to the idea. Isaac couldn’t hold back a snort of laughter when her dad yelled out “Jesus Christ on a stick!” when he changed the first time. Then, there had been even more shouting and yelling, and everytime Isaac would make any movement to get up and run back upstairs, Stiles would kick him under the table. So he sat quietly, watched the show, and ate everything in sight.

****

So, now, here he is, sitting in the kitchen, butt slowly going numb as he looks at Stiles, then her Dad, and trying not to crack up and/or cry.  It’s so strange for him, to be honest. Though there is yelling, there is no indication of fear in either party, nor could he smell any hint of that acridly bitter scent of hateful anger. Stiles would yell and cry and, in several hilarious instances, actually stomp her feet. And, even better, so did Sheriff Stilinksi. Then, they would sit down and take a break, and Stiles would start to try and explain again. It just keeps going like that for hours, with breaks for more food, more coffee, and in the Sheriff’s case, some medicinal whiskey.

****

Isaac is legitimately freaked out when they get to the part about the animal attacks/murders and Kate (all of which is brand spanking new to him, and makes him burn with anger at the thought of the Argents.) The sheriff needed a full finger of booze after that revelation, which he nearly choked on when Peter appeared, like some kind of evil genie summoned whenever his name is called. Isaac is still unclear as to how Peter gets out of being arrested or shot after admitting to murder. Maybe getting resurrected from the dead by a novice witch gives him a free pass, because he can’t imagine the paperwork involved if Peter were ever processed. Peter leaves afterwards, with a sassy little wave of his fingers.

****

When they get to Gerard, that’s when things take a turn for the serious. Stiles tells the entire story, seemingly unconscious of the tears slipping from her eyes and the hitching in her breath. They don’t yell during that part, her father staying quiet and holding her hand. Isaac stays close, sits and listens to Stiles talk about how scared she was and how angry she felt about the whole thing. Isaac isn’t sure how, but at some point he ends up with truly epic, bone-cracking hugs.

****

Also, a bedroom. He’s been installed in the spare room with a twin bed, a closet, and a window overlooking the backyard. The Sheriff had said that they can paint the room whatever color he wants, and that they can pick up whatever else he needs.

****

Isaac looks around the room, and he lets the near unfamiliar feeling of happiness trickle up his spine.

****

Then he remembers he is grounded along with Stiles, forever. And his brain kind of just short circuits as he tries to process what the hell he’d gotten himself into.

 

* * *

 

****

**Isaac → Derek + Peter** : Not coming back tonight.

****

**Derek → Isaac** : Why?

****

**Isaac → Derek + Peter** : I’m grounded.

****

**Peter → Derek + Isaac** : :)

****

**Derek → Peter + Isaac** : What did you do?

****

**Isaac + Peter → Derek** : Ask Stiles.

****

**Isaac → Derek + Peter** : I live here now. :-)

 

* * *

 

****

**Derek** : What did you do?

****

**Stiles** : Mine.

****

**Derek** : Gem...

****

**Stiles** : Grounded. Can’t talk. LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL

 

* * *

 

****

**Scott** : So the sheriff knows about werewolves. Fair warning.

****

**Derek** : ...I am going to kill them.

****

**Scott** : You can’t. They’re grounded.

****

**Scott** : LOLOLOLOLOLOL

 

* * *

 

****

**Lydia** : When are we having a baby shower?

****

**Stiles** : As soon as i give up the name of the father under threat of eternal grounding.

****

**Lydia** : So...a week.

****

**Stiles** :  :-(

 

* * *

 

 **Stiles** : Derek,  my dad took the xbox. I give us three days before we give up.

****

**Derek** : …

****

**Derek** :  LOLOLOLOL

 

* * *

 

****

Derek stares at what used to be his pristine, well organized living room. After Isaac had been shanghai-ed by Stiles and adopted by the Sheriff, Peter had needled him about nicer living arrangements.  Partly to shut his uncle up, but mostly because he wants a place he can bring the pack (and Stiles, always Stiles) that wouldn’t give anyone tetanus. Also, he might be a werewolf with healing powers, but sleeping on concrete gives him backaches. So, he signs a lease on a house.

****

Anyway. Derek stands there, mouth agape as he stares at his uncle, afraid that Peter’s lost what little is left of his burned out mind.

****

“Do we have an Allen wrench?” Peter inquires from the center of the disaster zone. Derek thinks he’s sitting on the couch, but can’t be sure because, Jesus. All the boxes and bubble wrap and foam, and packing peanuts. All of it.

****

“What the hell is all of this?” Derek finally asks, when his uncle goes back to his haul, ignoring the fact that Derek is having a minor stroke.

****

“Things we need,” Peter answers, in a tone that says ‘what do you think, you idiot?’.

****

Derek watches in flabbergasted silence as Peter continues assembling some kind of set of drawers. Finally regaining use of his limbs, Derek finally walks into the living room and looks in the bag nearest him. Inside is a very colorful box that reads BABY PROOFING! in bright colorful letters. There are pictures of frustrated looking toddlers attempting to open cabinets full of poison and drawers full of knives, while parents stand nearby, looking insufferably smug.

****

“Um...” Derek starts to say when he realizes that the top of the chest of drawers Peter is assembling looks like a changing table. “Isn’t this a bit early?” and holds up the BABY PROOFING! box aloft. Derek is very much embarrassed at how pathetically weak his voice was.

****

“Good point,” Peter nods in agreement. “Set it aside for now. What we need is to put pickles and rocky road ice cream on the grocery list. There’s a notepad on the fridge, go write it down.” Derek rubs at his forehead, hoping to stave off the incoming migraine.

****

Boyd walks in at that exact moment. Pauses. Then backs out the door slowly, nope-nope-nope-ing all the way.

****

 

* * *

 

****

Derek flings a chair against the dining room wall when, nearly three weeks after the Peter fiasco, Stiles’ ringtone blares. He hadn’t meant to crack the chair leg, but, in his defense, the chair had been between him and his phone. He eyes the chair as he accepts the call; he can fix that. Super glue fixes everything.

****

“Hello,” he answers, a little out of breath.

****

“You should come to my house. Bring bandages,” Stiles orders curtly, and then hangs up. Derek is left staring at the phone.

****

That isn’t promising.

 

* * *

 

****

[I can explain. That will take to long. Let me sum up.](http://alyseofwonderland.tumblr.com/)

### Notes:

i was going to spell some of the scenes out more. then i realized i couldn't decide how to do them. so you get parts of what happened. It really was about how the sheriff was going to react. Also how exactly Stile was going to effectively adopt Isaac.

**  
H BETA NOTES 4/21: So this was a tougher chapter to edit. E had provided the bones of all the exposition, I fleshed out the details.  I can’t decide if I want to pass off my unbelievable and repeated abuse of run-on sentences as a stylistic choice, or if I just can’t help write shit like that because that’s how I sound in my head.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was going to spell some of the scenes out more. then i realized i couldn't decide how to do them. so you get parts of what happened. It really was about how the sheriff was going to react. Also how exactly Stile was going to effectively adopt Isaac.


	9. Stop, Drop and Roll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been deleted and republished because my pretty beta is back and she wanted it different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also we don't condone shooting baby daddies.

**NOTES:**  
 **H Beta Edited** : 4/23/2013.  So, E shared this doc a few days ago, and I’ve finally had the chance to work on this chapter. Please note, this has gone extensive editing and massive amounts of rewrites to keep things humming along. E, I took out 98%ofthe angst. No regrets.

****

 

* * *

 

Isaac didn’t think Stiles could do it, but she holds out for much longer than he expected. He is impressed by her ability to hold a grudge (and her tongue), but by the end of the third week, he is less than pleased. He’s pretty tolerant of Stiles and all her usual quirks, but pregnant Stiles cranks that shit up to 1000%. It’s all he can do to not throw all the (soft, fluffy, pillowy) things at her head.  

****

She complains, constantly. She groans and moans and gets angry that she can’t take pain medication when her wrist hurts because of ‘you knoooow’ (with exaggerated flailing motions around her abdomen). She uses him as human pillow when she gets cranky, and goes for a kidney shot if he tries to move. She’s got very bony elbows and is not afraid to use them.

****

Isaac swears the only thing keeping him around, and to not go running off to stay with Derek, is Stiles’ Dad.  Isaac’s not gonna lie, he’s got one epic man-crush going on, and he dares anyone to not develop one after hanging out with the Sheriff.  Which, luckily for Isaac, he gets to do a lot of; they watch a lot of baseball, hockey, and even lacrosse. When Stiles is not around, they watch football (banned in her presence because, according to Stiles, the sport is sexist for not having a female equivalent and will not be tolerated in her home. Pregnancy hormones makes Stiles super insane...r. To the max.)

****

These past few weeks, Isaac has gotten more family bonding than he’s had in the years when his father was alive. The Sheriff occasionally cooks, or brings home take out, and they sit around the table talking about summer jobs. They go over college information and application packages, and discuss the pros and cons of two-year community college with a later transfer, versus going straight to a regular four-year university. It is very obvious that the Sheriff isn’t just talking about educational plans for Stiles, but also for Isaac; which makes Isaac blink back tears, because, hey, they’re all planning for their future together, like a real family.

****

He broaches the subject of Social Services with Stiles, and later that evening, her dad mentions casually during dinner that he’s met up with Social Services and that Isaac doesn’t need to worry if and when a social worker pays them a visit. Then, the Sheriff makes a comment about it being nice to sit down with his family for dinner, even though his daughter refuses to share the delicious, deep fried egg rolls, and how is it that he raised such a terrible daughter. He ruffles Isaac’s hair and says “Thanks, son,”  when Isaac sneaks one from Stiles’ mountain of food, and puts it on the Sheriff’s plate.  Isaac just grins back, while Stiles screeches about heart disease and cholesterol levels, and eats all the noodles. That’s when Isaac stops expecting to be told to pack up and leave, and unpacks the duffel hidden under his bed, in the event.

****

Anyway. Back to Stiles finally caving, outing Derek to her Dad, and finally getting in touch with him. Typical of the kind of shit Stiles instigates, it’s all accidental.  After what seems like an unending cycle of Stiles moaning on the couch, then running to the bathroom to throw up, then moaning at the toilet, Isaac and her Dad are hovering uselessly by the bathroom door. She is in between heaves, warning her Dad to stay outside of the vomit zone, and, per usual, her mouth runs away and slips up with  “Dad, you need to stay out there because oh my god, it stinks here and I can’t guarantee that I will not barf on your shoes - did you eat onion rings? Why do you hate me? Why does my alien spawn hate me and make me throw up? Fuck this, fuck nausea, fuck fucking motherfucking Derek and his fucking penis!”

****

There is an echoing silence while everyone digests that.  Stiles’ expression is the classic “Aw, shit.” Isaac face-palms, hard, and refuses to turn to see how the Sheriff looks.

****

Her dad’s voice is a low rumble. “...Derek. Derek Hale, the one you swore was a mass murdering psychopath.  That one? The Derek who drives around town in that ridiculous muscle car and, did I forget to mention, is much, much older than you, my underage daughter?  Are you saying, “ and the Sheriff pauses for a breath that swells his chest --  to the point that Isaac’s afraid that buttons are gonna start flying off and hitting people (him, mostly) in the eyes --  before continuing in a thundering voice, “That Derek Hale, who is 24 years old, unemployed, last seen squatting in an abandoned factory - oh yes, I know all about that! - is the father of my grandchild?” Then, in a suddenly (terrifyingly) calm voice that makes Isaac feel so, so sorry for Derek and for Stiles, the Sheriff says, “I am going to maim him. Possibly kill him a little bit. Then maim him again.”

****

There is silence again, and Stiles squeaks out, “Uh. Maiming is ok.”

****

Isaac doesn’t even think try and hide this time around, because - he’s a good kid, honest, but - the possibility of Sheriff vs Derek getting all Mortal Kombat is just too goooooooood. He texts Peter, Boyd, Erica, Lydia and Scott. “Shit’s going down. Stiles told the Sheriff. Derek’s DEAD. Should I video this?”

****

 

* * *

 

****

Stiles hangs up the phone after calling Derek (and she hopes that he does bring bandages) and jokes weakly, “Dad, stop that! You promised maiming; what are you doing with a shotgun? Put that back in the rifle cabinet. You have perfectly good hunting knives for this kind of thing.” She and Isaac follow him into his office and watch as he unlocks the gun cabinet.

****

The Sheriff ignores her, and humming under his breath, he starts loading up a shotgun with buckshot.  That done, he walks towards the gun safe and pulls out a pair of shiny, shiny revolvers and... Isaac makes the executive decision to stop watching and takes himself off to the living room to leaf through one of the many parenting books scattered on the coffee table. There’s neither silver nor wolfsbane involved, so he’s just gonna sit back and watch yet another episode of Stiles ‘n Dad Comedy Hour.

****

“Oh, thanks for reminding me, honey,” he responds, completely and utterly serious, and he reaches into a drawer for said hunting knives. “You did say they can heal gunshots just fine. We’re going to test that, just to make sure.”

****

“They can, but is now really the time to live out your Mythbusters fantasies?” Stiles is shouting. “Put the rifle down! I said you don’t need all these gu...Oh, hey, that one’s new, is that the Sig Sauer you’d been talking about getting for the department? How does that handl--wait a second! I am getting off track and what I meant to say is that we - and by that, I mean you - are not playing hunt the baby daddy. So, put those away, and...you can have, like, a small caliber pistol to use. Only one!”

****

“We might be,” the Sheriff argues back, eyes lighting up. He’s missed hunting, so this works out great. He starts loading a magazine one handed, like a boss.

****

“Isaac, help!” Stiles shouts out.

****

“Nope!” Isaac calls back.

****

“See, I like this, it’s fair now.” The Sheriff pokes his head into the living room, and give Isaac a thumbs up. Isaac returns the motion, because there is nothing else he can do at this point.

****

“Hey, no. I count as two votes. So, it’s tied,” Stiles protests vigorously, while putting all the other guns back in the safe.

****

“Uh-uh. My house, my rules. All votes must be cast by a party that can use actual words. You have a good three years before your extra vote - and that’s assuming he or she doesn’t side with their favorite grandpa - goes into effect,” the Sheriff replies smugly, and has the temerity to laugh.

****

“You are totally making up rules. Mom used to use me as a vote when I was in diapers, there is proof in the home videos!”

****

“Yes, well, Grandpa makes the rules now, and Grandpa says-”

****

The doorbell rings.  Stiles is struck dumb, and is physically unable to take a step because she is frozen in shock that Derek - if that is Derek - is at the door, ringing the doorbell like a civilized person. She’s not gonna lie, she had been half expecting him to come rolling in via her bedroom window.

****

Isaac answers the door, looks at Derek’s face (he makes a note to text Erica that yes, it’s constipated face #34, aka “I have all the feelings, but can only express them by clenching my jaw and flaring my nostrils like I smelled a fart”), then stands aside to motion the Alpha inside.

****

“Derek, there are going to be guns and knives involved,” Isaac warns him, “Remember to stop, drop and roll.”

****

“That’s for setting yourself on fire,” Derek replies woodenly, as the front door closes behind him.  

****

Derek takes one step, then a few more into the living room and there’s the oddly-not-very-loud sound of a gunshot.  Isaac gets out of the way, fast. Derek grunts and folds graceless down onto the floor. He looks down at the perfect little hole on his upper thigh, and decides to stay down, because Stiles’ dad just shot him in a location that is far too close to certain parts of his body that he’d prefer to stay always bullet-hole-less.  Werewolves heal quickly and can regenerate flesh, but he’d really prefer not to experience that today. Or any day, honestly.

****

“Dad!” Stiles sounds annoyed, and looks at Derek in exasperation, as though **he** was at fault **for getting shot by her father.**

****

“What?” The Sheriff holsters the pistol, then crouches down to look at Derek’s thigh. He makes an intrigued “Huh,” noise as he watches the flattened bullet push itself out of Derek’s flesh. They both watch as blood stops pouring, and the wound knits closed without a scar.  The Sheriff nods, makes a “Not Bad” face, then balls up his fist and punches Derek - **hard** \- in the face.  

****

Derek’s head snaps around, there’s the blinding pain of a broken nose, and that’s when Derek decides that lying down is probably the best solution to everything that is wrong in the world. He closes his eyes and wishes he was far, far away.  Away from anyone named and/or related to the Stilinksi family.

****

The Sheriff stands up, accompanied by the pop-pop of his knees, and announces self-righteously, “I promised maiming. This is maiming!” He turns back to Derek, who looks back up at him warily, still prone on the floor.  “My daughter has convinced me not to press statutory rape charges. But don’t think we’re out of the woods, here. You are going to be the most exemplary father, ever, or I am going to get out my shotgun.”

****

“Dad, your shotgun is already out. It’s sitting on the coffee table,” Stiles says, grinning at Derek. Derek regrets ever meeting her. For two, full, seconds.

 

“Yes, sir,” Derek promises, looking the Sheriff in the eye. The Sheriff looks at him sharply, reading the expression in Derek’s face, and nods with satisfaction. Then he reaches down to help Derek to his feet.

****

“Stiles, you have an hour to get the blood off the floor and his face cleaned up and for words to be said. Then he is out of here until the regularly scheduled visiting hours, as we had discussed.”

****

The Sheriff turns, grabs the firearm off the coffee table (and Derek sends a silent prayer to all the gods listening that he’d gotten the pistol shot to the leg rather than the shotgun). At the doorway leading into his office, he stops, turns to look at Derek, and makes the universal finger-signs for ‘I’ve got my eyes on you.’

****

And with that, the Sheriff walks into his den, and shuts the door behind him with a decisive click.

****

There’s a ringing silence in the living room. Derek stands there, not quite believing that he’s still in this lunatic asylum masquerading as the Stilinski house, Stiles is staring morosely at the pool of blood on the floor, and Isaac is texting the pack, updating them that Derek is still alive, but looks like he wishes he were dead.

****

 

* * *

 

****

As for the Sheriff...well...  He thinks he could be forgiven for pouring himself a nice big glass of well-aged scotch as a reward for keeping everything civilized.  By God, he deserves this, and no one will be able to convince him otherwise.

****

He sits down on his perfectly broken-in chair with a sigh, looking at all the guns and ammunition lying on his desk, and couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or cry.

****

In the end, he does a little bit of both.

****

Once he calms down, he reaches for his glass and looks around the room.  On his desk is a framed wedding invitation with “Ada Loves John” in the front, that makes the tears spring up again in his eyes.  There are photos of his wife, of him, of Stiles.

****

He tips his glass at his favorite picture - his wife, holding a grubby, six-year old Stiles, both of them wearing matching grins aimed right at the camera - and thinks that he’s pretty sure Ada would have approved of how everything went down. In fact, he’s pretty sure that if Ada were still alive, she would have been the one doing the shooting.

****

He swallows, letting the warm burn of the scotch trail down his throat, and thinks that there should be plenty of room for more photos of his grandchild.

****

 

* * *

 

****

Stiles had thrown the towel at his head and told him to get started with the clean up, as she was going to go and barf up her intestines.  So he did, and she had, and after he’d finished cleaning, he finds her on the floor of the powder room, sitting with her back against the wall, eyes closed, arm leaning on the closed toilet lid.  

****

Derek takes a minute to look her over, and he’s glad to see that though she looks like she could use more sleep, she looks...good.  She has put on some weight - which she’d sorely needed. Despite having thrown up the contents of her stomach, Derek thinks that she (and he can’t believe he’s actually spouting this cliche) is nearly glowing.  Pregnancy agrees with her, he thinks.

****

He sits down next to her, his newly healed leg touching hers, and he’s glad that she doesn’t move away in response. A minute, then another ticks away, then he girds himself to speak.

****

“I’m sorry. I am going to do better,” he tells her in hushed tones, meaning every word.

****

She opens her eyes and levels a judgemental stare at him. “It’s about fucking time,” Stiles replies.

****

“Peter bought a changing table,” Derek continues, words spilling out of his mouth. “And baby proofing things for the house. I also bought all the ice cream and pickles.”

****

Stiles laughs, then stills in surprise. “Wait, what? A house, you say?”  

****

“I signed a lease. We can...we can look for something better after the baby arrives,” Derek says, looking steadfastly at the hole in his jeans.  Then he shoots her a quick glance, “If you want, I mean,” he says anxiously.  

****

“...We have to move when I go to college, anyway. So, I’m sure your house is fine,” Stiles shrugs. Then she says, “Help me up, I need a glass of ginger ale.”

****

In the kitchen, Isaac is waiting with a glass of ginger ale for Stiles, a coke for him and Derek.  Isaac points Derek towards the seat next to Stiles, mouths “Use your words!”, then walks out of the room.

****

They sit there, sipping on their drinks in silence. Derek is eyeing the clock, knowing his hour is nearly up and wishing he had the balls to stay for longer.  He blurts out, “I watched over you. Through your window. I was in the tree. Sorry, I couldn’t stay away even though you were grounded.” Derek writhes internally with embarrassment - fucking words, how do they work?

****

Stiles looks back at him with mouth ajar, “Why didn’t you come in? Wait, hold on, what? You were in the tree? How often? How long? Why are you such a creeper!?”

****

“I had to make sure all of you were alright. I...I needed to check for myself. Isaac’s not good with keeping me updated. And Lydia told me to give you space, to wait until you called. So...I waited.”  

****

Silence again. Derek despairs at how fast an hour goes, and they still haven’t really gotten to talk about their plans.  But all thought flies out of his head when Stiles reaches out, pokes him on the cheek with her index finger and says, “I forgive you for being a creeper, and for being a heartbreaking dickhead because you **left** , you gigantic asshole, but... We’ll have more words about that, don’t you worry. Just...don’t stay away anymore. You should visit again, so we can talk. Okay?”

****

“...Ok,” Derek gulps, only barely keeping from howling in joy, so he settles for leaning down to kiss the hollow behind her left ear. Stiles hums and leans into it.

****

He doesn’t see the Sheriff or Isaac on his way out. But that’s okay, he’ll be back tomorrow anyway.

 


	10. Sonograms and Realtors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek tries to buy a house. Also sex of baby is revealed!

The realtors lady is giving him a very disapproving frown. It’s kind of strange because frankly he is doing a great job of seeming friendly. He really is trying. He did the smile and everything. And yet she is still looking at him like any moment he might stab her with a syringe and she will wake up in a room filled with plastic wrap. Derek is considering asking to work with a different realtor.

 

Derek is going to blame Peter for this. Every house they had been shown Peter would find some insane random thing to hate. First it had been the lack of fireplace. Then he had taken offense to the shape of a bay window. The third house Peter had turned down on sheer principal of being in an awful subdivision.

 

Currently Peter was busy opening crawl spaces and trying to see if a child could get trapped in there.

 

“Does your partner wish to see the blueprints?” The realtor asks sounding both bored and annoyed.

 

“He is my uncle.” Derek bites out feeling like strangling someone when Peter winks at him in response.

 

Derek would rather have done this alone. Or have the Sheriff with his rather disappointed air of discontent following him around. Hell he would even take Stiles right now even with her near constant complaining and the vomiting over his uncle.

 

As if summoned by the mere thought his phone begins ringing the custom ringtone that Stiles set herself to on his phone. The realtor looks a bit horrified at the rather loud Nicki Minaj song that is now blaring from his phone.

 

“Want to see if the alien is going to be oppressed or not?” Stiles half shouts before Derek can even get the phone all the way to his ear.

 

“Stop calling the baby an alien.” Peter some how responds from halfway across the house in a way that Stiles can hear.

 

“There is a creature growing in me that has a mind of it’s own and that mind is that it hates onion rings. I haven’t been able to keep fried food down for months! This creature is the spawn of evil and I blame you and your main pain.” Stiles now sounds on the verge of tears which is normal at this point.

 

Derek is not exactly been forgiven for the radio silence or allowed to be around Stiles unsupervised by either the Sheriff or Melissa McCall, but things are getting better. They talk all the time. He is allowed over. He found a job and is working as much as he can now so that he can have leave for when the baby comes. He has been forced to join big brothers big sisters so that he has a legitimate reason to be around Isaac.

 

That didn’t mean that things were by any means perfect. There were marks all over town that the alpha pack as still doing things. Stiles’ words. Doing things. Because according to her werewolves doing things was not as important as the fact that natural birth would literally ruin her vagina forever and why wasn’t he as upset about that as she was?

 

“So you coming?” She demands rather than wait for him to try and placate her.

 

“Yes. We will be there. Your father gave me the information for the doctor’s appointment weeks ago.” Derek breathes out softly hoping to sound relaxed.

 

He isn’t relax. But he is better. Sure having a pregnant teen aged girlfrined is not the best case scenario but he is actually doing better in lots of ways. And Peter seems to have honestly given up on any kind of murderous intent in lieu of now being ‘the greatest uncle ever.’ It is apparently a pun and therefore twice as fun. Peter has ordered a shirt saying as much. Derek isn’t even annoyed. That’s what is life has come to.

 

* * *

 

 

“One more time?” Stiles shrieks. She will admit that was a shriek. Peter just flinched. Why is Peter in this room?

 

“Your first ultrasound showed one fetus and we now have two.” The ultrasound tech is actually shaking.

 

“Dad?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Gun please.”

 

“No darling.”

 

“It won’t kill him I swear.”

 

The sheriff starts laughing. Stiles is not amused. “Your mother always said that you would get two fold the hell you gave her.”

  
Derek seems a bit pale. Stiles thinks he might faint.

 

 

"It's a boy! Twice!" No one looks at Peter with amusement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NaNoWriMo is upon us. Fanfiction are my word count this year. REJOICE AND BE GLAD. ALL THE UPDATES!


End file.
